Solitude Poem by John Lance
Solitude
The boy slits his wrists in solitude.
He is alone in mind and body.
No one there to save him.
When he needs everybody he has nobody.
The blood flows.
He is already dead.
This he knows.
When a thought pops into his head.
If he is as worthless,
as he knows he is,
why should he get the release?
why should he be at peace?
So he punished himself in the most wicked way,
He saved himself.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/19/2024 9:56:02 PM # 1.0.0.1119
