I run and run from you.
I turn my head to look at what you drew.
You pull out something black.
Next I hear a crack.
I am on the ground.
With blood all around.
I must have been shot.
Because for this was a lot.
I get up and start running.
My wound starts hurting.
I seem to be falling.
I wake up from sleeping.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem