With my cigarette on
My left hand. Puffs I cry
The aches that stabs echt
Cadence of moment leaves.
When I'm done playing
Around -this egoncentric game-
This callous pain, must-
Wither, fast-breaking a blister
As this cigarette bickers- burns
My Bedlamite affection - Done
With you, smoldered in my left hand.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem