I try to purge myself
Of my impurities
I'm in a constant, living hell
Because I'm always fighting me
Often Pain and Pleasure
Become one tactile force
And when I feel the pressure
They help me stay the course
Behind the face of this porcelain doll
There's a slowly building crack
If you looked past these vacant eyes
You'd run and not come back
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem