I pretended
I lied
I brushed aside
Thinking
That I could go on
Living
Doing the things I liked
As if every day was fine
Like scary dreams that eventually stop coming at night
I insisted
Everything would be alright
Yet
I was only hurting myself
More badly
In more places than I could tell
Because when my pyramids of sand really fell
And the last of shells
Had lost its spell
It felt like hell
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem