we diagnosed a deep infiltration of high posts
it has lead to this: I am in a room full of people
who would dearly love to poison me
it's hard to seem sensible; I say that I am not afraid
I think I'm in a much better place now
but everywhere I look someone dies; surely
it can't be true that the same representation survives
the transition from one theory to another
just doing my job, handshakes and middle fingers
I will never see another child screaming in a store
if today doesn't change the world, wish me luck
I'm kinda freaking out
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem