(Sang the poet to a friend)
My heart is colder, darker than the depths of space
And far more isolated
My blood runs black unforgiving as asphalt
The world is ash and pleasure an illusion
Love's icy lies have left me paralyzed
And soon I'll be nothing but a corpse picked over by rats
...
'Man that's what hookers are there for'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem