Having a chance not to be thirsty,
Why do we always try to suffer?
Having already coped with last murder,
Why do we fill our mind with stuffers?
It wasn’t my fault of finding an answer
Into the dead core of adjoining sound.
It’s just can be felt simply like cancer,
Authorizing my mind, if I were bound.
I’m slowly joining my aloof sick mind,
Trying to kill these loathsome thoughts.
Feeling like breathless, drawn in the wine,
Blackmailing myself with bold and brute words.
The degree of completeness, stability, pace,
Gently is leaving the path of my solitude,
Why should I hide in green grass me face,
Trying to dance out the core of this attitude?
Then why should I see right through all your lies,
If you don’t dare to look in my eyes?
A chance
© Copyright: Катерина Колесова, 2011
Свидетельство о публикации №111122900093
Свидетельство о публикации №111122900093
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