Like bones from the sceletons
in our closets,
in our throats
we're choaking
on our history
suffocated by our past
Why do we carry all this fear around
constantly terrified of the shadows
of our unfortunate love stories
Why are we transporting all this pain
too scared of what new emotions
might cause us
so we hold on to what we know is
slowly killing us
and draining our bodies
of all that is life
so that we'll at least experience
our own absence
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem