First I grab a pen full of ink
Then grab paper those too objects are like a link
While I spill my guts on the kitchen sink
I think of what to write
2 seconds later I'm not stop writing anything that comes up
It automaticly rythmes
On every single line
Writing about things of every kind
Only these things i can create in my mind
Some words can make you blind
This paper
Makes my hate her
This pen
Makes me realize she's ten
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem