I've been staring at you,
from behind your mirror.
You thought me away,
but really I'm nearer.
I feel much worse,
when you are here.
You're like a black curse,
now it seems clear.
Your abyss of hatred grants me one wish,
and this is what I profess.
Live forever turning circles to lines,
and when you're done we feed on your flesh.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem