When there is no more will to survive,
Let me drown myself in the memories of lies,
It's a not a question of what could have been,
Rather a realization that life is just an illusion.
Now, the witch is celebrating her birthday,
Extracts a few more ounces of my blood,
Glares at me as I lie transfixed at the floor,
Sprinkles a drop onto my face and raises a toast.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem