'No excuse' has been given short-shrift
my heart is too cumbersome to lift.
A mop head rose after a shower.
Wish didn't care for him, didn't flounder.
I've given him his-marching-orders
he's told his last lie. I can't help but cry
the die has been cast. Bring in the lawyers
I'll show him thorns - a rose not to defy.
I'll cut him to ribbons. And show him
I can be bicolour like Rosa Mundi
the white of my heart of his crimson
splattering's laced imperturbably.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem