Red broken lines over pink colored skin
in time it will heal, you say
but you caused me to create them
She cries out to the Lord
and no one answers
in time He will answer, they say
Time is the enemy,
the man holding a gun to your head
And sometimes you just want to
pull the gun out of his dirty hands
and shoot yourself
You can not escape time
and all the reveries it brings to you
and all the wretchedness
it places upon your heart
So you let time make it's path
rough and filled with flowers
but soon you will get there
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem