My disease is free.
Stained upon this carpet of green.
Slipping away, bound no more by pain,
by loss,
by destruction,
by hatred,
My disease, my life, runs slowly from my veins
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It is understandable that life could be seen at times as a disease. But what innovation in the usage of the word. You are masterly in the telling Jim.