Flowing out, through your skin
Beads of red always win.
Shedding blood, never end
Habits tend, hearts don't mend.
I bleed, the outer layer,
And how can this be fair,
they say that this is rare,
But all they do is stare
And I can't remember
From the last December,
When all you held was her,
To me it's just a blur.
The problems, they expand.
In my sight, there's no land.
Reach out, give me your hand.
I think I can see sand.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem