Can't show weekness
not a sliver of defeat
because when backs are turned
what was thought to be passed
will sink in its claws
and tighten its grasp
The punctured skin
causes walls to cave in
making the world turn colder
and not even a cold sholder
to rest this head
or a pill
to help put this burden to bed
Running from the past
afraid of coming in last
and a bullet
ensuing persuite
acuracy accute
a skellletons marksmen will shoot
Pick up the speed
head for the gate
away from feeling irate
twards a state
of mind
which is much more kind
to body and sole
Make me whole
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem