There's a corner where I hide
Small and covered with blue
Deeper than a well of screams
Dark as the words of my lover
There's a corner where I'm known
A familar face amongst the crowd
Shallow but not alone
Available for self recrimination
There's a corner where I come to gather
Thoughts of quiet desperation
Held tightly in a bunch
A bouquet of regret
colorful beyond imagination
There's a corner of pointed thorns
I jam myself into their painful embrace
Blood is the color I stream
Dabbed up by torn strips of saving grace
There's a corner I will lie upon
Fiercely awaiting judgement
Eyes pleading for another turn at the wheel
The struggle purifies me
What else do I have?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem