You're words pollute me,
Spit sparks of fire,
Bottomless pit,
Where I sink, through quicksand and grit - the more I struggle, more you enclose,
Invisible hand covering my mouth, my nose,
The angels fly through faint hazes of blue,
Their wings alight, dropping ash from above,
The smoke it smothers, the smoke it loves,
Silent tears, no-one can see,
Just how much this pain you gave afflicts me,
From my uterus I will but dropp a tear, from my centre I disappear
Falling, Falling....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I got ya! A great little ditty on what it feels like to be mortally wounded Anita. Well done indeed. 10 from Tai, catcher of falling souls