Though not mine,
1000 voices squeezed my psyche.
Stains of solitude crushed me to wine,
Life turned bitter, gloomy filled with ache.
They hollored continously of the past,
Dizzy I became n was shattered n torn.
The flashbacks kept coming in a haste,
Abysmal n mystic were those I started to mourn.
Hostile I turned that glasses were smashed,
Like a hurricane running ruin over the carribean.
Myself couldn't be controlled as everything fell crashed,
All went in an adrenaline rush as I felt no pain.
Twain of the eyes protested as they were illuminated,
Memories dissolved like snow that melts in rain.
My dreams were literally orchestrated,
Though not me, by the inner diablo of mine.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.