Chiseling at the human skin
just to find the pain again
nothing but the blood is there
drying in the empty air
the smell so sweet
with a metalic taste
it makes my heart run
like a bullet from a gun
the taste remains
and so do i
but the blood does not
it disappears like rain in a draught
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem