As I walk around I start to fade.
Living in this world of hate.
I see no reason for me to breathe.
So I'll slit my throat,
and fall to my knees.
Then onto the floor
in my crimson disease.
Not bad for a 13 year old. Maybe you should updat it and give some clues about why living in a world of hate is happening during a church retreat. Regards.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Ah, the joys of Church retreats - nothing better to rip open your soul and see what survives... Good to see you made it, Jeff