My something.
Your nothing.
Performing.
Responding.
You were always right? 'Right? '
That's why we always fight?
You could never be wrong,
was your favorite song.
You're pathetic, lethargic,
Undetermined, lacking logic.
We were arguing, fighting,
now paragraphs I'm scribing.
Guess I couldn't help but fight with you.
That's another day wasted on you.
I'm done with this rehearsal of shame.
Time to star in the Theater of Pain.
'Goodbye? ' 'Forever? ' Piteous? 'Never.'
Numbers change, transformation severed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem