It must be removed, from those, around me.
They are so perfect, I cannot be
any thing more than a burden.
From which end to start, peal, pull, cut, panics
a musk, It breaths.
I try to talk, the evil is so raw, thin, sliced heart.
So bad, when sleep does come, those parts
for others, must all be rejected.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem