lightly paste my forehead to the desk
as if KO'ed myself to the dreamless limits
the new reknowed world
sighing each human breath away
weak enough to be unable to open a pen cap
yet strong enough to keep writing in blindness
seemingly to tear my eyes apart
as I drift off to my resting spot
dreaming of home sweet home
with the pattering rain sounding by the window
and the fireplace crackling into crips
as the tomb engraves my name with sounding bits
each letter
each sound
slowly the game coming to an end
these spirits
these souls
of mindless parts as if nailed in the heart
spewing of demons appearing out of the gray
as they gobble our unpredictable lives away
these dead trees
life without death
yet the old respoken words break the curse away
time rolling backwards
as death itself chops you into ritual pieces
this is just an illusion
a game
a gruesome thought
with nothing but the unpreventable game
that hunts itself forever
in this stinking bloodbath
as it chains itself
sticks itself on the sad, sad moon
hunting, parting away
unpredictable days
death, love just around the corner
questions down this alleyway
nowadays life's game is a game
that hunts itself til the end
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem