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Crushed I am.
By my mind which invokes the deadliest of thoughts.
Violent bloody horrific thinking.
Am I ill.
When all I do is crave.
For another kill.
In the sides of more.
Lies the many different ways.
I was born to bitten.
I am teardrop written.
What was given.
Will be taken.
What was sown will never grow.
When the water is salted.
When the tides are low.
I tell no stories when the end begins.
Knife in my hand.
I stand and watch your door.
Exited, I barely can count the score.
The picture of your face.
Perfectly displayed in my brain.
Is bound by chain
Again and again.
The time has come.
I am the hunter.
You are my prey.
You have to die.
You have no say.
But not before you taste.
The certain little place.
Where rain comes down.
And runs into the river of pain.
There where no one prays.
By my murderous hands.
You will be slain.
Death is the owner of my soul.
Belong to this land.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem