why do you stop me?
why cant i do the things i used to do?
its stopped me from doing the things i love.
the things that used to bring me joy.
now i just sit and type how its horrifying
grip has a hold over my worn and tattered soul.
i can no longer cry but why?
why cant i cry?
probaly because i have cried myself to sleep countless of times.
i still do sometimes.
but usualy i just lie there pondering
' why am i still alive'?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
amazingly true to life, at least for me...