I am unable to sleep at night,
and my soul knows no flight.
I roam around off track,
as my thoughts seems black.
I reach for the pills,
but my hand stills.
Is this really the way,
to end this day?
I reach for the blade,
but my actions are delayed.
I don't want blood and war,
as my memory tar.
I reach for the gun,
and then the idea I shun.
It's just anyone's guess,
as to who'll clean the mess.
I reach for a paper and pen,
and put everything off until then.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem