The clinic took her bags away,
Giving all the feeling better,
Her gray hair snarled at the career
Of the nurses, lunging at throats
Like a merciful general swearing.
The doctor lumbered by,
Bungling flavors down the hall.
The next lofty day, at the back
Of the head, my enemies came in.
All that same patience nightly wept
In me, like a favor of the past,
Inside it tasted like venom.
I, like her, was badly bruised
By the guns and torture of circular
Spells and magic, of course
It was religion backwards,
It was morality in session.
She arrived at my call,
When the nurses murdered me,
Kicking my brain and skull,
The bookend was far too simple.
Tears started moving down my
Chest, to open the wounds
And the blood oozing.
She came into my head and hatred,
How do we plead?
We were both guilty,
Innocence had no time,
As for her cruelty.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem