Blood is the essence of life for most beings.
Some of them fear it.
Others crave it.
Others crave it so much that they would lose their own for it.
The blood we’re “blessed” to have sometimes turns on us.
The very thing that gives us life gives us death.
There is nothing that can help you without wanting something in return.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem