The blood from my vein is running down my wrist,
But I don't feel pain, just sweet bliss.
It's fu**ed up the joy that I feel
It really should hurt when you see your filleted skin peel.
Cut to the pretty, white, shiny bone.
I should call 911, where's the phone?
I can't reach and the world's going black.
It's much too late. There is no turning back.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is incredibly vivid. A great read. At times like these it is when we write best. Thanks for sharing. Keep up the incredible work!