STATUS NOW #A true write
me on a chair,
a dim fucking candle,
that is about to die,
with a pencil of 4B, besides,
a cup of hot grey choclete,
with some old newspapers,
which has news of murders,
creepy and hogwash music,
playing all around the corner,
darkness calling me its sweetheart,
and, the chair is kinda broken,
behind my back, a man sleeping,
with a huge black body, unconcious,
and me alone and alone and all alone,
a book of chemistry (inorganic by J.D.Lee) is seeing me,
page no.77, topic VSEPR Theory is crying,
please somebody read me, read me loud,
And, I in a terrible diary of 2012,
making words, with the last refill of my pen.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem