Blood Boil. Poem by blake graves
Blood Boil.
Chest burning.
Head whirling.
Veins bulging.
My chest is a thermal playground where stars mingle to see who burns the hottest the most ferocious.
My head is a stage where demons demonstrate there evils, and boast of their vile acts.
I am forced to watch, by there ringleader. Myself.
My veins are a pathway for a poison, the most toxic poison of all.
Life.
I need the antidote.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/5/2024 2:50:22 AM # 1.0.0.1119
