Предоставляю на суд стих, который я написала еще в феврале:
I like to cut my hands
I always do it to the end
With the blade of knife
I don't even know why
What for I do it. The main
Reason is love. The pain
Is thing I most need
When my hand is bleeding
The moment when I cut
Then the stream of blood
Which very much excites me
Don't you know that we
Could be together
Cutting hands - my hobby.
Если кто не понимает смысл (а я думаю, таких нет), обращайтесь:))