Tires,
Night;
Not a phrase.
White and yellow lines,
spiral out and away from words,
but there is no escaping human fear.
Her brother,
And his wife,
Sleep beside the fireplace,
And that old and dusty house still stands in defiance.
'Why'd I have to fall in love...'
'...Wish I wasn't me.'
'I'll tell them all,
Someday.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem