All these demons in my head keep me
nailed down to the bed, it's like they
won't stop til I'm dead, what do they
want from me? All the signs I see
outside, taking nothing said in stride,
cuts and bruises on my pride, it all
comes naturally. Spilling vomit from
my mind, sitting idly biding time, self
expression's such a crime, they scream
it's blasphemy. Your religion is a lie,
but you won't ask yourself why, where
do we go when we die? Someone
answer me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem