I am so strung out over you
That cannot ask, ''What's new? ''
If you got nothing to give me in return,
Then tomorrow I might crash and burn.
You avoid staring me right in the pan;
My green blinkers are buying the big one.
What if my tick-tock stops pumping blood?
On the other side, will I meet with God?
If love hadn't slipped out of my hooks,
I would've still kept up good looks.
A phantom bit part inside me is toddling off
To look for a new body in which it won't fluff.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem