In the eyes of a little girl, burns hatred deep and cold
A fire made of ice, a heart made of stone
Carved from the nothingness that has been her whole life
She picks apart her father's wounds, the scars from her own knife
Deep rivers of scarlet red trail across the floor
The blood is racing in her veins and freezing in her core
She is unable to show herself to them
Now that she wants to, she cannot let them in
Trapped behind a wall of glass, her burning bars of shame
She's hiding then she's seeking, but she never wins this game
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem