raw and unfiltered.

When I usually write in English

My writings are a pastel red colour.

It's harsh theoretically, not distinguished

And watered down, the feeling's much smaller.

But when I write in my first language

It's bright, dark red mixed with black.

It's full of energy, will never languish,

Feels like being struck by lightning in the back.

The poems are gruesome, I talk about knifes,

Cutting, bugs and graves.

I feel like I'm giving them frightful life,

Perfecting them I never even crave.

And I realised that the things

That I write in my own language,

Are raw and they sting

Your heart with unfiltered sadness.