Your life on a sketching pad
Symbolism smudged into crooked lines
Your heart in a notebook
Words left to be defined
And in this time you send yourself
Its pages closed left to unfold
Into her hands; into her hands
You pray to god she understands
Well I guess that it’s typical
To cling to things that are just ephemeral
And it just doesn’t seem fair
And it doesn’t matter how hard you tried
That faith you had; those wounded eyes,
That battered mind that just understood that she doesn’t care
No she doesn’t care
You fooled yourself not to be scared
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Great powerful words in this poem.