Blank lines fill with blood,
the words much to red to speak,
have been uttered past broken teeth,
heated past melting,
lines- and words disperse among,
a bloodied page.
Swollen- engorged with heat,
bleeding through your ink,
truth is seen,
the distortions in which tongues wrestle,
finally a falsity,
rests upon the tip of your tongue.
and longs to destroy,
everything I've ever known to be true.
and every spilled word,
my pen bled for.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem