Here I sit, watching life waste away,
Knowing the movie should end well,
But that reality will not.
Here I sit, recognizing my tragedy
In all its assertive, lonesome power
I cannot stop.
Yes, here I sit, assuming no one
Will read this, and, if they did,
Could very well skip the lot.
As I sit, it's becoming old to say
How abandoned I've been
At night, at day, by all.
With nothing left, but to sit, I feel
Similar to riding up hills,
While their fireworks popped.
My pain, their pleasure, their thrill,
Like a female used, still,
In festive, putrid lust.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem