My mind goes to the pit…
And I feel strange a bit.
Sharpening the senses
I put up those fences.
Sober thoughts forsake me…
And so I can’t get free.
The sense of the meeting…
And the pulse of beating…
This sense is artificial for me.
And now I can’t breathe…
Tickling feeling in the throat.
Once I was bought and sold.
It doesn’t matter when it was.
Yes, you often do some false.
But I'll become stronger then.
And I'll find a better friend.
Let go free your mind!
You see London by night
And something indistinct in a dream.
So there I could feel myself free…
This sense is artificial for me.
But me… I continue believe…
My artificial sense
© Copyright: Ольга Расмус, 2013
Свидетельство о публикации №113042000033
Свидетельство о публикации №113042000033
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