I have written down all I feel in pages,
drawn my soul in black and white,
and I swear you could wrap this pages
to form my heart.
I have written down all I feel in pages
with hopes that in each line
I would find something comforting,
that in every blue ink used
I would find a guardian angel.
It's a false hope.
A lie told to ease the pain.
When I write, my tears water the pages
and each word grow into a thousand thorns
piercing the very core of my heart.
As my love for writing increases,
so is my love for pain.
It is an addiction, this pain,
Comforting and soothing.
And when I'm done writing
I would be waiting for the next page and a new soul
so this pain can start again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem