THE BLOOD
IT DRENCHED MY ARM
IT SOOTHED MY LONG PAIN
BECAUSE I AM HATED
BECAUSE HE WILL NEVER LOVE ME
IT WILL BE BETTER WHEN I DIE
I WON'T CRY IF HE SAYS NO
I WON'T WAIT FOREVER FOR HIM
TO MAKE UP HIS DAMN MIND
ILL BE BETTER OFF DEAD
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem