I spit on the ground that I walk upon! I hate the color of grass. Life don’t matter now that I have a knife in my hand and boy my skin is callin its name I can just see the pleasure I’ll be able to feel when this knife splits my skin apart. “yea just cut a little deeper! ” yes! ! The voices in my head are not talking now. The blood on the ground brings an excitement over of witch I can not describe. Man is this room becoming a blur. I feel happy now, and now I must……..
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
post this poem before all that inspiration drains away! Great title and yes! you have to be to do such a stupid thing and it also helps with being a poet. Have a great week. Smiling at you, Tai