My mind is a flutter
with words that are not said
Nothingness swimming in a void
filled with empty expectations
And these negative voices
seem to be my own creations
But they all scream simultaneously
Severing any semblance of sanity
In succession they serve to scramble my psyche
To stew myself in self-consciousness
And what am I to do
Shall I accompany them till I turn blue
Or should I await my cue
I just wish I knew which one is true
I'm pushed to the edge
Teetering over the tracks
I hope the trains late
Yet in the end
Mind wins over matter
But this matter is my mind
And it feels as if its splattered
And it's remnants scattered
And each each piece scattered
But what does it matter?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem