I don't want to live this life that I do
I don't want to live in this world that's so sad and blue
Back in the dark recesses of my mind
Lies a lone bird of the suicidal kind
With black wings and eyes piercing red
That will only find comfort in the dead
It takes flight high above the ground
And thinks about crashing down
Or maybe fly high and loose its breath
And feel the intensity between life and death
Wings spread out, eyes to the sky, as I lay
While in a bed of ash on a mid-summer's day
Is a way which I've come to find
Is a complete haven for the suicidal kind
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem