Scars don't go
they settle in unconscious rows;
deep deep below
they have stories to show.
Inhibitions
they moss covers lay
what the smiles green say
secret stings outplay
Stains of memories
painted with brushes of reveries
bleeding relationships
weeping desperacies
like a beautiful oil painting
the stain of pain painted afresh
some love like the winter sun
wakes up the phoenix sent to ashes burnt
My stain is my shame
From my pain oozes blood clots
raping me of every second's joy thoughts;
loved dawns and lovely dusks stinks rot.
Thorns-they prick the spongy breasts
the vulnerable innocence weak and fragile
preyed by the beasts of frozen insanity
the stains spike as stabbers spit profanity inks.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem