i was smoking this bipoler trip,
filling its absence with some
frankincense and dirt, i go
deep untill i hit bottom, then
i get real brave and strip this
snakeskin off, so this is where
the stink was coming from,
so this is where sadness hangs
out, how sad i think that this
place is nothing more then
pain and hurt...............and
deep red walls.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem