THE sky splits open, like a angry mouth,
the planets begine to play basketball,
as your moods start to swing.
YOUR telescope hitz a home run, then
begines to fade, into this bipoler dream.
YOU scratch your head with a rainy thought,
then laugh at the colors, on your walls.
A man shows up with a smile on his face,
then gives you your pills, then walks away.
THE sky begines to fold in your head, so
you put it in your wallet, and go to bed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem