I don't understand,
How time after time,
I can pick the same wound open,
Then stitch it shut again.
It was healing,
Infections disappearing,
Until i split it open,
And threw my poison in my veins.
Through the dead heart it pumps,
Burning to the tips of my fingers,
Killing everything on its path to the brain.
As the poison lingers.
I remain.
Dead, again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem