Dragged to such depths... of your selfishness and sorrow,
wishing upon yourself... that there be no tomorrow.
Gone and left, like... the ones you apparently loved,
with fake tears falling... into... already sodden mud.
Anger and hatred... that fills the air with pain,
The Blood from the innocent is not all lost...as that appears... to be Your gruesume gain?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem