To find you in the pouring rain,
You try to get rid of the stain,
But the blood remains,
On your heart, On your mind.
What a mistake you shall find,
That knife fallen from behind,
As you shudder at what you've done,
And cringe at who you've become.
The candle of hope burns one last time,
As you are given multiple signs,
That you are never safe now,
They will find you out.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Permission to future your poem in my upcoming book...full credit will be acknowledged