do those late nights,
watching false loves stories
complete their cliched kisses, round me out?
do those stories read again,
really separate me from this never complacent world?
do these demands fade in my avoidance,
as if it were ignorance,
with further attempts to solace my soul?
Satisfaction is a lie if I give to myself.
In the worship songs I find you again
after all those marshmellows have melted
leaving me dissatisfied
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem