Don't go out again tonight,
to walk the streets alone.
Don't follow train-tracks til dawn's light,
That will not lead you home.
Don't tell yourself that it's ok,
don't make yourself believe.
That actions carry consequence,
but remorse will earn reprieve.
Don't bleed a stranger's life away,
for how it makes you feel.
Don't tell yourself that it's ok,
to you she wasn't real.
Don't take her handbag with you,
don't try her lipstick on.
Don't call up the Samaritans,
and tell them what you've done.
Don't think about her parents,
or her kids at home in bed.
Don't wonder how will they react,
to hear that Mummy's dead.
Don't waste your time on looking,
for guilt that isn't there.
Don't do yourself the disrespect,
of pretending that you care.
Just remember that the time will come,
when you let yourself be caught.
And whatever gains you think you've made
will all amount to naught.
So when you're out again tonight,
Leave the knife at home.
You know that you can't trust yourself,
To walk the streets alone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
What a pleading poem, beautifully explained situation. Sincerely Ernestine Northover