Its a passion to hurt
It hurts with a passion
The pain subsides
So i want it back again.
That knife is an instrument
For my skin
She plays it well.
Plays every sharp note
Plays every soft note
And adds a silent reason to it.
She'll play it fast
She'll play it slow
Who knows?
She might even play it low.
She lives inside of me.
My Guilty-Conscience
Has the need to hurt others
But she can't so she bleeds
Bleeds the hatred for another
why she does this?
Nobody knows but me.
But we bleed in a symphony
of Happyness
No sign of greed
To make the other suffer instead of me.
So the knife is an instrument
For our skin
To Play a Symphony
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem