A selected scar,
holds a memory.
It burns and itches,
when I contemplate love.
I won't forget,
the day I'd given birth to it.
I couldn't breathe, I couldn't move,
I couldn't believe what I'd seen.
My stomach was turning,
my organs failing.
It seemed fitting to mark such an event.
My heart had broken,
all over again.
He lied, and I'd caught him.
I hope he felt a sting to his chest,
running his hands over it.
No... what am I saying?
I'd never wish pain on someone else.
I may be cruel,
but I'm not so pathetic.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem