Wake me. From the American dream. Take me. Far from this scene.
You make me. What I am today. Now shake me. Til I say I'm okay.
My lips are out of reach, from your poisoned mistletoe. Or am I lying through my teeth? Are you smart enough to know?
Tape you. To the railroad tracks. Rape you. Stab you in the back.
Make you. See what we all think. Shake you. Til your face turns back to pink.
Your life is in my hands, there's blood on both my paws. We're sinking in the quicksand, and screaming our voices raw.
You're the nightlight of my life, brighter than a thousand suns. But your name is on this knife. And on every bullet in every gun.
Run! If you love yourself. If self-preservation comes to mind. Run!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem