Do you know nothing of me?
Am I not just that of Crimson?
Am I what you would think would be flowing through that of a corpse?
Dead I am, To you and to me,
My crimson you would think would flow through these undead veins,
But this blood, is infected with love,
Drain it away through slits on my wrists,
Burn the flesh over, conceal the wound,
Let love bleed through,
I do all this just to forget you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Yeah, it is dark crimson here...i think slit will not help to forget, everything but time will help to make your blood be natural crimson not over dark crimson...Nice write :) Unwritten SOul