I look into the mirror
and I see what can murder.
It's a pitiful,
ugly monster.
It will never give you what you expect
but so much less.
It's eyes are pits of self-wallowed sorrow.
The glass shatters
tiny pieces embedded into its skin
and blood trickles from its clenched fists.
Who am I?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem