Cold hands are around my neck holding me so hardly…
They hate me internally; they don’t check my personality.
Bloom of mood is covered by black greyness.
And she’s in the corner where nobody’s here.
White calm was hardly disappeared away.
I have no sense. I have my latest name.
I have no nothing but just feign myself.
So what should I change to be not abnormal again?
Looking around for something special,
Picking up with everything now…
I’m sorry; can I be forgiven?
"Take your soul; it’s pure rubbish"
Rubbish
© Copyright: Анна Сэктрин, 2018
Свидетельство о публикации №118020605639
Свидетельство о публикации №118020605639
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