the sky spins.
spins spins spins,
the ground lurches,
rushes,
blink.
face-down.
closer than you thought you were.
help.
you've fallen
and you can't get up.
The cold air helps,
calms you down,
but the night is still on your breath.
the burn is still in your throat,
on your mind,
in the trash can by your bed,
and your dead, and dead, and dead.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem