Sea salt rubbed into
the open wound,
bless the scars that have come due.
Black-
down deep; soot not blood
swimming in my veins
poisionious rapture,
clogging the juglar.
If I could of loved you,
the way
an addict loves her hit,
would there have been
a question in your eyes?
No.
Celtic rain soaking my skin,
the garden of all my loathsome sin.
A cocoon of metallic fibers;
entwine this treacherous heart.
I look out amazed that the sun
still shines...the days go on,
as I wait to become what I should be
in your eyes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem