The knife above by only a thread,
the fear of life in a girl's head,
Every night she returns to the cold hard slab that has become known as her bed,
With the knife suspended above by only a thread,
She lives with the fear that her life will end,
when she returns to her bed,
with the kife suspended above by only a thread,
She lives her life with the fear of death,
but chooses to show the world an immortal,
carefree and without pain,
Until one night she returns to her bed and with a soft sigh,
the knife, suspended above by only a thread comes crashing down,
and with a soft sigh,
her light,
goes,
out.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem