I feel the blood upon my arm
All these voices in my head
Won't seem to go away
It's a secret
That I'm entitled to keep
It's just a thing
Nothing's getting better
It's only getting worse
In my purse
There lies an object
Thin with a pointed tip
Love me now
For this is a fatal trip
My deadly secret...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
the speaker will overcome... if they choose too. read my poem 'OprettyopillsO'. it touches on something similar. great write.