It's killing me, you know
These things I write about
I will not last much longer
Of this, I have no doubt
Death is not a metaphor
It's creeping at my door
I cannot cope with failure
I wish to live no more
Loneliness consumes me
Rage constricts my heart
Fear controls my bones
How did this ever start?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Good writing, we all have some battle that we are dealing with in life and there are so many roads to take and so many hands to hold.