In the last moments of my life
I lie awake, calm as a fetus to be
Stillborn.
I see, so clearly, my hand firmly
Fisted into the shape of my
Heart,
Rythmically pumping life out
Of my gruesome, gaping
wound.
I hear, so clearly, in the other room
Is the lonely little girl crying
Softly.
I feel, so clearly, the rawness of
My throat; I have cried for
Her,
I have screamed for her, I loved her,
But I could not possibly protect
Her.
She sits in the dark, where she will always sit.
Her cries quietly fading, her heart gradually growing
Cold.
Far, far beyond anyone's reach.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem