I live in a grave.
My deepest thoughts sleep
locked in my sarcophagus
which no one can unearth.
I'll encase it in cement
then build mountains over it.
My world is my dream.
My secret desires mutate
into the world that i see.
No one else can see it.
I'll gouge my eyes with filthy fingers
then burn them into ashes.
My mind is a book,
its pages littered with lies.
It waits longing to be read,
alone without a reader.
I'll paint it on walls, ceilings, and floors
then sign it: 'anonymous'.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem