Lying face down in the mud
I have made it to a new land
Some may call it paradise
I would rather call it Hell
The Inferno, the Underworld
For Heaven seems much easier
To reach or to travel to
Than this remote palace
My hands are covered, soiled
With a deep mahogany film
And when I bring it to my mouth
The only existence on my tongue
Is the brief taste of blood
I feel like me again, whole
Not like a person in a box
And so I plan to make a home here
In this Hell, and demon I will
Be called and named, less
Than natural, less than human
So as I climb to my feet
I do not weep, or worry
Today I will be reborn
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem