Feeding the desire.
Turning blood into water.
Such a beautiful wasteland.
Finally quenching the fire.
A clock still ticking all the way down to the wire.
Life so short, yet so exotic.
A precious gift that we are no so easily willing too just let go.
Go ahead give her a name.
But know that won't change a thing.
Snuffed out as quick as she came.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem