From the window of mirror
Something strange looks at me,
Breaks the face with sorrow,
Blood runs and you can’t catch me
With the arm dirty with lust
And body covered with bloody rust,
You seem to be the piece
Of thoughts graved in my head
And have no pride, no price.
Never seen the day more dead,
No me goes on the street and home,
Me lays under the crypt’s dome.
Me is there and out of place,
Find the mask to use at face,
Plan my future from the past,
Even if this time has no cost,
There will be someone similar,
Not me, just your ideal me-liar.
This world called mine,
This face called mine,
This life called mine,
This me I don’t belong to,
This me belongs to you.
08.05.2012
182 This world called mine
© Copyright: Мабусеки, 2013
Свидетельство о публикации №113090707503
Свидетельство о публикации №113090707503
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