My love for you is like a string, mistress.
A string coated in gasoline.
A madman is calling me, to tie it in knots,
Or he will take my mistress' life.
I tie the knots.
I tie, tie, tie.
The string shortens.
With each knot I pull, the string explodes,
By friction.
The knots burst into flame,
The string burns scarce.
I keep creating junctions,
Stop points.
Soon my fingers are too dense,
Too husky for delicate work like this.
I cut them down with a blade.
I keep tying.
'Till tiny threads are left,
Coated in blood.
The string is barely existent.
My hands, are barely existent.
My love is like an endless string.
My hands ache.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I don't know how I missed this one Mark...another brilliant write...thank you...10+++