Look at me
flesh drying up,
curling upon itself.
Limbs and fingertips
decomposing into nothing
but skin and sticks.
Eyes closed,
I breathe in
the cold
the stale.
Willing the music
to seep in
and make me
soft and
light again.
But the breath
turns into heave,
and suddenly
I'm falling, falling.
Heavier than ever,
heavy with
inedible thoughts
and undigested emotions.
They rise, up and up.
Catching at my throat.
Crushing the residual
crystals of lucidity.
Till hairs turn into shards
stubbornly pricking
at my confused innards.
So I bleed, bleed.
Scarlet songs
and scarlet words.
Till all I can see
is one scarlet field
and a blade against the red
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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