My desk is dusty, my fingers flake
The end begins, when will I wake?
I trail the dust, initial your name
You're still a ghost, all the same
I creep the hallways, I tiptoe the stairs
Even in the attic, grief finds me there
The dust swallows me, a little then whole
I lie on marble, my heart is now cold
My bed is frozen, the nightmare endures
The faces I see, are only yours
The light it falls, then it dissipates
The night begins, when will I wake?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem