Scornful looks
are given up
into this forsaken jar.
Kept away
from dream’s reach;
a punch in the gut.
I feel the rush
of warm blood
drip from my cut lips.
Praying nights
vanquished to spit;
the walls are a derider.
With scripted honesty
let’s play our game
of sweet denial.
Deprive me of life
I believe in nothing;
I don’t give a damn.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Darkly acerbic with a potent twinge of angst and yu got a good poem With scripted honesty let's play our game of sweet denial Touching Anger