I'm not yet dead.
I'm not yet alive.
What is this feeling I'm feeling inside?
Rip me up! Tear me apart!
Just do me a favor and throw away my heart.
I don't want it, for with it I am vulnerable.
So take it! Bury it deep!
And don't let me see it.
For I just might weep.
The thing is a curse.
An unesesarry beating in my chest.
Not fit for a wretch like me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Love this poem, I know to well the troubles of the heart, they kept me awake many a night.