As time goes by,
I think and wonder why.
Why do things change?
Why can’t things stay the same?
Has my brain been rearranged?
Will I once again feel sane?
The pain is unbearable,
feeling unstable and mental,
feeling like a rental,
repairable but not worth the effort.
Am I different or insignificant?
Luck can’t last forever in this world.
The weather matches my mood and it won’t stop raining,
numbing pain complaining,
saying, this is what you get for believing,
in feelings that had meaning,
but when reality sets in,
the fatality of you leaving sinks in…
This can’t be fate,
I’m not ready to see the gates of hell.
What the truck do I keep smelling?
Am I decaying already?
Am I delaying reality?
Is this dream just a creation of my mentality?
Or is my mentality just a creation of this dream?
Will anyone ever get what I mean?
Why is everything never what it seems?
Why do I smoke all this green until I can’t see?
What’s happening to me?
Is this the end of sanity?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem