My shoulders burn
where the knife was
yet again.
Who was the cause you ask?
None other then yourself.
The blade on my shoulders,
an old friend.
You yelled
and called my useless.
So the blade
crossed my shoulders again.
The jagged edge cutting
into my skin.
Until I reach the tip
and lift it up just a little
so the tip digs in.
And you were the cause.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem