The beautiful red stress
strewn across my face,
took off my silver rimmed
poundland reading glasses,
didn't think you were as
furrowed and hollow cheeked,
no the cheat has been in to
your body and taken it...
I'm looking at you and your
not faking it or making it
any different to anything else,
your brain is shaking, heart assist,
the empty pocket too dark for
a hand to inspect or reach into,
I have not enough hearts to go round,
one needs five hundred daily,
and you don't drink enough now
to even cry, your so arrid, and nowhere,
and the Christmas lights are like
thorns again, just too dynamic to be true,
for last year awaits me and the year
before that, and every other that ever happened...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem