Counting down the rage
thats explode out from your chest,
5,4,3,2,1,
the beating begins.
You pound me with your Iron hand,
Cut me with your words,
rape me with your hate,
and Slaughter me when your around.
you killed me and don't care,
I am dead, but still breathing.
ugh! I hate when u count... anyway...ur tough. that's why ur still breathing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
a good poem.. and it is true... doing in the heart is like doingit for real.