Physically, emotionally, mentally drained
I pretend to be happy; it’s meant to be changed
Feeling bitter now, “women to be blamed”
Poor, ugly, shy guys, when do we reign?
Tired body, mind and soul
This hand has been played, its time to fold
Love is whatever the finder’s told
I’ll take that as my sign to go
Never quite asleep, never really awake
Waiting to fail, another silly mistake
I yearn for sounds to heal this break
Does anyone else ever feel his ache?
My imagination is enough; I don’t need to see facts
So I feed the addiction, I craving to relax
Continually pushing until something in me snaps
I fall to my kneecaps, I’m having a relapse.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.