I am taking you for never granted
but before I walk away
Spare me a glance,
look very closely
My guises now are frayed
Go on, cut me open
I'll spill my darkest blood
Cup your hands
Bring them to your lips
Tell me what flows crimson
that I never could understand
Tell it to me before I burn
this last skin that I wear
Because the first chance that I get
Shall mean the first cut 'cross my chest
And thenceforth only guilty last words
will fall out in whispers
but they will fall straight onto paper
whose first few folds
shall be borne of
my last few hand motions
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem