Flores nascem no meu sangue
E param a minha circulação.
Elas crescem e enchem os meus pulmões
E com os raízes apertam o coração.
Essas flores de primavera,
São lindas de morrer.
Mas com elas não consigo respirar
e sem, ninguém irá me querer.
****
Flowers grow in my blood
And halt my circulation.
They grow and fill my lungs,
And with their roots, they squeeze my heart.
These spring flowers
Are beautiful enough to die for.
But with them, I cannot breathe,
And without them, no one will want me.
YOU ARE READING
Pages From A Paper Heart
PoesíaRead my work with intent, as I have imbued my very essence in the works I lay bare. Reflective poetry drawn from experience.
