wron handle
tears at my palm
the metal cold
tearing at my arm
the blood is warm
it floods my body
trickling down it
like thorns
inhale sharply
the pain feels good
fall to the ground
like I knew I would
in the dirt
I feel safe
away from harm
and this place
I close my eyes
to rest some
and there you are
in my dreams hun
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem