14 lines across my wrist,
Packed up tight yet reckless in direction...
It always seems so stupid, now, in reflection,
Here I hold fate's twisted gift.
My life, ever adrift
Here stuck with sinister affection,
All I strive for being fatal perfection,
Please, help, end this eternal graveyard shift,
Bring me back and into the light
Into the warmth where I might feel again,
Gift me courage as I can't do this on my own.
Death always seemed so, so bright,
Cut straight through the vein,
Then with enough strength to expose the bone and that shall be your shift done.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem