My hairs holding up
goals race to meet me
dead presidents converse in abundance
old enemies greet me
I’m all washed up
Haven’t felt pain in a long time
When writing I’m inclined to rhyme
I’m letting things slide
forgetting how to hide
the poet inside
all washed up
I cannot depress you anymore
you are free to explore
the regions still uncharted
left by the broken hearted
and when the haze has parted
you’ll be all washed up
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem