This is a place of terrible things.

We are terrible things.

When I look around me, I do not know what to save first,

in my dreams I see everything burn in the fire,

I save nothing, not even myself.

There was once a girl whose father had heavy hands,

Now all the heavy hands in the world couldn't hurt her, move her, sway her.

All the lovers are dead in Gaza.

I was made with the heart of a poet and so,

all I know to write

Is of love and flowers,

gentle touch and betrayal.