The knife,
You've used to stab,
And left there into heart,
Is just causing a bleeding and pain,
At a pace that,
I can see every drop,
And feel the slow-burning pain,
The knife just needs an extra twist,
A bit extra shove,
Just right enough that,
I cannot keep count of,
Blood and pain,
And I'm gone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem