She stands alone.
Only her thoughts for company.
Each night,
Mental damnation.
Each day,
Hiding the pain.
Cutting.
Burning.
Searing deeper.
The core,
Her own apocalypse.
The hole she prods,
Only to make it burn more.
Because she knows the pain is better.
Better than the emptiness.
Better than having no feeling at all.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem