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The knife glints under the dim bulb,
its silver tongue whispering
how easy it would be
to open what aches inside me.

I brace my hand,
press down slowly,
feel the skin split,
hear the soft tear,
watch red bloom
across the board
in trembling pools.

I cut again, and again,
shards falling like thoughts
I can’t keep straight,
my breath coming faster,
the smell rising sharp,
green and raw,
like the earth itself.

I tell myself
this isn’t what it looks like,
though it feels like release.
All this mess,
all this red,
all this trembling,
only
vegetables.
18:11pm / The cutting board looks like a right mess
Maki 4d
Wind, sky, clouds, and the city;
the only things I have left.
Every day, I sit on the same bench,
wondering why it all happened.

I gaze into the distance,
as if I were still searching for you.
Yet deep inside, I know
that even if I ran there,
I would never find you.

Forever staring at your faint smile,
behind which true sadness hid;
I understood you only when you gave up,
and then disappeared forever…

The cold wind
pinches my cheeks and blows my hair.
But I sit, staring,
lost in thought.

Wind, sky, clouds, and the city;
only you are missing here.
I close my eyes for a moment,
to forget the cruel reality.

I remember those days, all the time spent with you,
and I thank you silently
for helping me become a better person in the end…
Hey, this is my first poem that I've translated into English. I hope you enjoy it :)
Shattered glass on the side of a road.
Thrown out of a car window.
By a drunk.
On a highway.

Was once filled.
Once used and useful.
A bottle of *****.
Chilled.
And bought when needed.

When one needs to forget.
When one's mind has become their worst enemy.
Their own mind.
And it plays their worst memories.
Like a sick and twisted *** tape.
Haunting.

Like those nights.
Words, screams, shouts.
Glass breaking, doors slamming, knives slicing.
Sweat dripping, tears dropping, blood spilling.

Then the silence.

And the recovery.
Though that's not what it really is...

Shattered glass on the side of the road.
Not from a bottle.
From a car window
A car with its bonnet a tree.
And a smiling dead body in the driver seat.
And their last thought being 'finally'
Beautiful jazz music playing
The sound of a saxophone
Heard in the background
Smooth, ****
Soothing
Morning sounds
The sun is out
A cooler day
Coffee sitting on the marble table
A croissant its companion
At one of my favorite cafés
It’s early
The city is still quiet
It's the way my heart skips a beat.
It's the way I can't stay in my seat.
It's the reason why I can't sleep.
It's the reason why I think so deep.

When your eyes smile with your teeth.
On my skin, the goosebumps crawl beneath.
maybe I'm giving this much more meaning than what's actually there to it
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