So unhappy. So lonely.
Such a failure.
Death is a frequent visitor.
Constantly chatting with my thoughts.
Never does he leave.
He has seemed to rented a room up there.
Hah.
He's always a guest but never permanent.
I never have the courage to let him stay.
So dark up there.
The electricity has long since been cut off.
I lay in the darkness.
Me and my thoughts wait, hiding in the dark.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem