I look into a mirror
And see a dead soul
Her heart is black
So whitherd and cold
She closes her eyes
A single tear falls
wishing, waiting
crying, fading
She ready's herself
For the pain to start
The only thing
To comfort her heart
one cut,
two cuts,
five cuts,
eight
Cutting and,
slicing and,
numbing,
her pain
There she lay
Before the mirror
In a warm dark puddle
Made of scarlett and tears
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
...words emitting sorrow here......10