Call it spooky, call it grim -
I call it an act of calculated evil.
Cold hard steel carving
squares and triangles in my torso.
My eviscerated guts tossed in a boiling pot -
A candle shoved in my vacant belly.
O, how I rue the day I left
my peaceful patch beside the corn
to meet my savage and ignoble end
this frosty Halloween night.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem