Hours later.. Far from sleep.
Damn this life for this desease.
One year later.. Story stands..
Recovery is great at hand.
One year later, same routine..
Recovery is but a dream.
One year later.. Darkened eyes..
A sickening life I should despise.
One year later.. Here I am..
Sinkning back in this quicksand.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem