there was this time when
i got drunk and looked at
myself in the mirror to
check if the image was
really mine. I stared.
I liked what was in there.
I liked to stay something, but i just
passed by.
The mirror in the
comfort room happened
to be so silent, and
i was sort of like
a word misspelled
uncorrected,
just passing by,
unhampered.
Was it really me?
How handsome could i
be when i am drunk
and lonely.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem