That subtle rend of anxious skin.
That gentle pulse of crimson.
Just enough to silence the demons.
&& enough to make my head spin.
Slicing away the self hatred.
Watching the evil pour out.
Dying alone in more than one way.
Being normal is a big doubt.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
=/ I hope this is really all metaphorically speaking. Nonetheless, beautiful poem in its own ugly way. =)