giving up on all hope
leaving my life behind
taking this rope
and i have nothing left to find
no longer could i cope
sqeezing it around my throat, all i hear is it grind
Falling from this chair, no longer could i dare
get to live this life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The heart in love is a vulnerable and delicate thing. Would that it be in soft hands. A nice poem. Short and to the point with definition. Easy to read. Cannot ask for anymore. Except perhaps, a little solace. GW62