Stress, each muscle tightens under the tension of anger.
Hopeless thoughts, goals, hopes all disappear, all gone in a single swift strike.
Molecules of flesh formed, Ridding of the remnants of what used to be.
Of who used to be.
What was this new flesh?
Who did this belong to?
A mask?
An improvement?
Or a curse?
Questions flooded me.
But the answer was clear in my head.
The day I met my good half,
The day I met my hopeful self,
The day I met my naive self,
Was the day he left me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem