I cut myself, I sliced my wrist, and watched
it flow without a care.
No pain, no infection, only blood.
I watched it flow from my wrist, go down
my arm and start to twist.
Into the symbol of death, he awaits my arrival
with open arms.
I run through pain, through the darkness
with nothing left to gain.
My dreams hold secrets that whisper to me,
an ill wind is approaching, and death slithers next to him.
Like a snake in the shadows, evil approaches.
I know not of the meaning these secrets foretell,
but all of this comes to mind when I look.
Into my tainted.....blood
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem