I feel your daggers as you speak
they sink in, problematic, like a flood
the cauterization, spreads so well
Like A disease so good, that I know so well
Never wake up, I'm doing my best
Not to rub your visual burden against head
I'd use the nicest lace,
to stich the prettiest picture of your inner thoughts
to a casket lining, like a curtain of you,
to lay upon, stand in a pool of and shower in your thoughts
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem