Silence. Fresh air. Don't peak over death.
Pleasing and glorious your suffer has been.
Once I was told that my pain was a myth.
Then tell me, dear death,
Why are you hiding beneath?
Looking for souls that are lonely at nights?
Silence. Fresh air. Let me chase the blue sky.
Silence. Fresh air
© Copyright: Екатерина Морозова 25, 2021
Свидетельство о публикации №121092206845
Свидетельство о публикации №121092206845
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