black desk
green walls
cherry stained floor
blue light
paper and pencil
the time 11: 50
movie in the background
clothes books and pieces of his life on his floor
his desk is the only thing that is clean
there with his computer
his amp
his headphones
on ipod
thoughts going through his mind
thoughts of suicide
thoughts of rope, blades, and pills
what is next
he is alone
he can do want ever he wants
but he does not
why not
because he sits there and writes poetry
of his thoughts
with the moonlight and the starlight shining down
making his work beautiful
making his work sweet
making it love
and making it captivating
but no hate goes though his mind
just love and peace
i am here just call
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem