Next time, I'd like to be a man.
Instead of this pathetic, snivelling mouse.
Next time, I'd like to be stronger and more self-assured.
Instead of this weedy, terrified louse.
I've had enough of this life, and as I desperately await the next
I realise that this is my way out, and I have nothing left to give.
I realise that we only live to die, but we only die to live.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Just make sure that you write as beautifully in the next life as you do now. Self-loathing can sometimes be the result of having too beautiful a spirit to handle. We do not want to part with you yet!