There is a box upon my dresser, it keeps what I hold dear.
When I am too close to it I'm overcome with fear.
With fear that reminds me that someday I'll die and none shall care.
It is a horrid, wretching feeling that I would love to share.
The box holds pictures and notes that record my dreary days.
My heart is a mere block of ice that people's minds barely graze.
I am too weak to continue this life, I deserve far worse than death.
I shall burn the box along with myself, then I may find rest.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wow. Very intense poem. Love it.