I've typed for hours
My hands are cramping
They’re as limp as flowers
I feel like stamping
When will this horror end?
I’m near the conclusion
But my fingers start to bend
The wrong way; it’s like an illusion
I must go to sleep
To clear my head
But I must not weep
Into my bed
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
its ends when we finish, but that is almost always a long time from when we start, isn't it...DEATH TO THE ACCURSED HOMEWORK }: (