I'll meet you at two
Just like we always do
When all conversation is done
I'll watch you disappear into the setting sun
Then take the pen in my hand
Set the paper in the sand
Write out all there is to say
And hope you never feel this way
I'll walk over to the tree
Wondering if I'm ready
Reach into my pocket, the last moments of my life,
And pull out a knife
I'll press the knife to my skin
Releasing all the pain within
My soul will float up into the sky
Knowing that I had to die.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem