The marks of last night
Stare up at me
From the white flesh of my arm
Red glaring back at me
Like a beacon of despair
The slices through my skin which were made by me
But could only be caused by you
Are more real then every thing that you have done
Or anything you could ever do
These marks tell me more
Then you could ever tell me
They tell me that my days are numbered
That not much more I can survive
That theirs not much more I can take
So I have to find a way to stop this
Find a way out
Or the scars on my arm may become something I cant stop
Something I cant handle
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem