SPIDER eyes,
howled voices,
nails that cut,
into the chalk
bourd of the
soul.
BONES that crack,
loves thats cold,
and nails that cut,
into the chalk
bourd of the soul.
CANDLES blown out,
dark fills in, man
takes one last sip,
before he goes to
bed.
STILL, nails that cut
into the chalk bourd
of the soul.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem