You must feel joy, to hurt me so,
To crush my humble heart.
For in your soul you surely know,
That from your side I cannot part.
You stab you slice with practiced grace,
With venom in your voice and face.
Only a fool would live like this,
Like some poor tortured masochist.
Inflicting pain to you is bliss,
Just one kind word cannot exist.
Torquemada in his grave would pale,
To see how you drive home your nails.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
That`s a wonderful piece of work (the poem) not the person, get rid of that one.! !