you accuse me of being imperfect
sadism in your blood
you make hate and hurt intersect
i'm never sane enough
what's it worth to take my soul
you love the thrill, to watch me fold
can't i be good enough for you?
satisfaction comes when you choose
a pseudo-smile is all i need
as i forget your past
remind me when you make me bleed
you like the pain to last
and we have so much history
hidden behind scars and eyes
i don't know what it is to be
only what it is to die
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem