So depressed,
So upset,
So unloved,
So messed up.
So empty inside,
So why don't I die,
So little said,
So much to dread.
So mad at myself,
So many reasons to sleep,
So many things to think,
Do many nightmares to dream.
So little time left,
So much still to do,
So ill grab the knife,
And die thinking of you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem