Wind blowing my hair off my shoulders.
Blowing the heat of the fire towards me.
Picking up the ashes of my loved ones.
A thick black cloud forms around me.
A feel a slap of a hand print on my back.
I cry for the ones that I have lost in the fire of my hate.
Thoughts fill my mind.
I could have stopped it.
Why did I let it take over?
I feel the razor and my wrist.
I feel the hot red blood running off my arm.
It will be over soon
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem