Bloodied blades,
are placed upon flesh,
devoured among death,
Life resides at the tip,
ready to be taken,
to be felt with ruby lips,
The blade is forged,
in the blood of many,
held by the hand,
that could not be held.
Pushed into the blade,
forever held within the bloody,
her wrists,
as her body,
remain drenched,
with her own disdained desire for the waters,
That stained her heart.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem