you are my book

So much everything there is a wish to inform to you.
It is so much verses in prose.
It is so much lived hopes and expectations.
It is so much time for nothing...


Yes we after all simply exhausted...
We it is simple... up to the end were tired...

We lost life brightness.
All paints are erased and there was a gray canvas.
You after all know about what I...
Give...  let's part up to the end
the April bridge tortured by expectation.

Yes for that already to wait?
All expectations woke up.
Regained consciousness from a dream!
The nightmare dreamed them.
We have no need to stand now a column.
Wires adjoined.
And... second, shock, blow, category...

Knockout.

To me it is simple in one line.
That simply I abated.
But you are my prose.
I couldn't put on you a big fat point.
Hardly in a whisper... broke on shout.

You know.
Not in one my book there are no so many pages, as in you.
The broken glass already on a floor.
And not alcohol drops.
For the sake of you I sent damnations to spring.
From all doors I it is simple... I removed also so known passwords.

I didn't replace the address.
In the room same smell.
You if want, come on tea.
Only take with itself a couple of candies,
That.. from sorrow to me not to begin to cry.