It’s funny how many times a day
I think how your murder would be so cathartic.
Does that scare you? Do I scare you? 
Are you afraid of anything, 
or is your brain so high, so far beyond, 
the macabre ceases to frighten? 
I like to think your blood, freshly spilled, would care.                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
 
                    