The knife is my pain
And it hurts
Cuting into my veins
My blood is bright red
And it definitely left stains
Now Im empty
Becasue
No blood remains
My wounds will
Turn to scabs
And the scabs
Will heal to scars
How can my heart beat
Without any blood
How can my thoughts leak
If Im lost for words
Poems stole
So stories are un told
In this world I will never
Know my true role
The penertrating steel
Definitely affecting my will
To live and to feel
Submiting to the pain
And focusing on
The blood stained
This is real
And none of it is planned
Patients an true will
Because I should have been
Paniced from all
This blood spilled
Lost of circulation
Affects my thought process
This is serious
Is this knife massacare
Physical
Or attacking
My thoughts
Is this pain
Cutting mentally?
Is my blood the problem
Are the scars and scabs
Good and evil looking to be solven
If so what is this pain
And why is the blood stained
If i had one guess
I would call this massacare
A painfull memory
And this poetry has to be
The remedy
So next time i write a poem like this
You know something in my thoughts
Is really killing me
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem