a small and colourful bag
contains the most dull personality
that you could possibly inhabit
and even when you realize
that the person you are now
would be hated so dearly
by who you once were
you tighten the rope
you stare down the barrel
and you decide that you gave
what you gave
and you're not sorry that
there's nothing but tiny prayers
and small contusions on your skin
left to show of it
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem