The Cycle Poem by Ana Ónimo

through my seasons, gently dying, in an unsual degrade
i feel the punzant stream of gold piercing through my face
and then i saw you, wearing a mask all day
waiting for night to come
so you can cry and no one would be there
and when i saw you hiding, lonely
your head buried in your arms
i felt like dying or like to whisper
goodbye
just as if i never existed to you
and to erase the traces of the path
in which we walked together
so pain no longer soffocates
your delicate lungs and your sensible heart
and i held knowing what i know
that you dont deserve someone like me
and that you would be all better
if we had never met
but now indesicion is a bee in my head
a question tumbling through my mind
should i die
or should i change?