Swollen and pulsating.
An open, festering wound.
Too stupid to dry up
and die.
I try to swallow it
like a dry pill,
but vomit into my cupped hands.
Our bile snakes its way through the crevices of my palms
and it means nothing.
I slam them against the keyboard.
Drunken.
Flailing.
We were chemo,
for the f_ck of it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
heartbroken poem/ written lovley