Thorns of thoughts,
mind,
have become rooted in paper,
pen.
'Goodbye' fertilized with
steel tears,
massively spikes,
glints.
Warnings fog soothing
balms....
Dorothy stays in Kansas.
The Lion has found
her door,
gouging claws
closer.
I slam my hand through
'Goodbye',
blood flowing worded penance
on crystal pages
of vinegar.
I sip rights of
passage.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem