It’s funny how many times a day
I think how your murder would be so cathartic.
Does that scare you? Do I scare you?
Are you afraid of anything,
or is your brain so high, so far beyond,
the macabre ceases to frighten?
I like to think your blood, freshly spilled, would care.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem