I have planted my hatred beneath this soil
where my weeds will grow and my vines will coil
with hopes that you stumble along its path
and feel the full brunt of my wrath
and when you are frozen in a macabre ballet
the worm approaches where you lay
then your bones will dry under the sun
and my flowers bloom in bright crimson
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem