Whoa.
I didn’t do this.
Not to myself.
The sticky plush isn’t mine.
But then, whose?
No.
No, I dare not do this.
These lacerations are not of my doing.
No, fake, they don’t feel, I deny their existence.
But then, how?
I fell to sleep.
This is not of my doing.
How could this have happened?
I couldn’t…not when in dream…
But then, where?
And that’s when I awoke.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem