Slowly, i slide my hand across the page.
Writting my lifes story.
Yet, nothing appears on the paper.
the reason, i have no life.
I'm a controlled puppet.
I don't live life,
life lives me.
And once my years are over and used,
My body is throw into th depts of pain and despair.
My soul and heart are already dead and gone.
I have nothing to live for anyway.
So what's the point of me still living?
There is no point.
There never was and there never will be.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem