I think I am not entirely real but more
a conglomerate of ghosts
all come together: a party in a host.
Bring the chalice, bring the cross,
holy water in holy grail-
throw the heretic down the well.
To live is a verb, an actionable word;
a state of turning nothing
into something never heard.
If being is a noun,
and living is a crown-
why then must we break it, falling down?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem