the palace of contempt was wrought
naught with these veins the eyes had saught
your feral knowlege of this force-feild
i can't spell well
still i force -feild
traitor hands are smooth like syntonyms
you react to all this venom and
HOLS ABLAS
we are certainly losing our minds
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem