Despair,
A hole dug deep,
By bloody fingernails,
Dug deep,
By the strongest of men.
Many hands have scaled,
Her endless, dirty walls.
I bite my fingers in anticipation,
I taste nothing but mud,
My poor, cracked fingernails.
Look up,
You no longer see,
Blinding light at her entrance,
Your retinas are pale,
From months in the dark.
Keep biting those nails,
You might get them clean.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem