Like a good Christian, in all my dreams
I practice turning the other cheek-
but awaken, after having killed
anothers soul, in my sleep.
It's not that we humans don't have good in us,
it's those tapes we replay in our heads,
the good, the bad, we play all the time,
We cherish extreme emotion; it makes us more alive.
We'll regret pulling that trigger, in the end
because its ourselves, we kill the most;
and ourselves, we must congratulate-
as we greet the newest ghost..
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem