The Trip Poem by sandra lagos
The Trip
Movement, madness messes morbidly mixing my mind
So say sadly sauntering somewhere, 'sickness, sitting, soft'
Consequences could cause crippling crying
Breathing badly, boldly beside broken bodies
An art actually attained as air awkwardly acts aloud
Take time torturing tears that trickle tiredly torn
Marking many slowly sifting carcases coldly, but beating actively aside to torment me myself and I
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/24/2024 9:14:52 PM # 1.0.0.1119
