Jungles with napalm ghosts
Mirrors with shadows
She wears the chameleon rain
Dressed in fog
Silk stocking vampires
We awake in erotic tragedy
I've stopped dying
Drama like a wet poem
Writers need to suffer
Trees fill with starlight
The forest burns with war
Each day is now become the end
Today I am tucked inside of you
Your mind is a glamorous refuge
We strive to forget the doom
Justifying our sexual haven
Our walls with meadows and whips
Pleasure coated despair fishnet
Your eyes with black eyeliner
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem