The waiting of suspense is strange.
This way of fruitless self-derange
Can't lead to peace
And throws your soul to the knees
With no pity in exchange.
Imagining the floods of "Love",
Then piling nonsense up above
You're wasting time.
And this unwarrantable crime
Is nothing to be proud of.
***
© Copyright: Анна Винни, 2013
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Свидетельство о публикации №113101110124
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