Able, are you.
To kill the I in me.
Remove, can you.
The thorns which corns me to fake, reborn.
Clean, will you.
My veins clustered with poisoned custard.
Addictions to the addiction.
Welcomed by my pain.
Axe my head, read what is read, read again.
Red is read.
Bloody to the end.
My blood reads.
I read red.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem