Moon had died.
Sun stopped it's shining.
Pure water now -
With salt.
Our sweet ride
To hell, darling;
Break your crown -
It is stopped.
Now you're going
Upon the road
To the heavens -
Oh, so boring!
So, I'm diying -
So I wrote
To you in letters...
Or I'm trying...
Way
© Copyright: Алексия Летто, 2012
Свидетельство о публикации №112093008950
Свидетельство о публикации №112093008950
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