That pretty picture
that picture with a twist
the on that is on my wrist
i drew it for you
i drew it for him
only if he knew
knew the blood running
the ceiling spinning
the blade hits the floor
as blood runs under the door
hearing their screams
like i use to in my dreams
its over soon
just look at the moon
and you will see
what was really there between you and me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem