This physcosexual Perversion
For self inflicted pain,
cuts not only my wrists,
Its doesn't just drain crimson veins,
Disturbing, self images,
Pereverted and distorted,
Let this blade write lust upon pale skin,
let my color turn crimson,
My pleasure grows with the pain,
watching crimson fall from physchotic veins,
It drips down my arm,
consuming me with desires,
erotic, and beautiful,
such a bloody love in which I aquired.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem