A desolate heart
Pumps its dreary blood
Through the vessels independent
From the winsome tastes of reality
Until which the raging sage
Keeps the sense of being
All to himself
Leaving everything out
From reaching the dreary mind
Thus not moving but delaying
Destruction within our midst
Needing another fix
Of psychotic candy that needs more sugar
At the jar where the location is gone
From being used
Before it existed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem