The day is over,
It didn't even have to time to start.
Eyes covered with streaks,
The body catted with the parts.
Don't open eyes,
The mood has smell of oil.
The smallest price
For crying loves is toil.
Forgive me gentle honey angel -
My sorrow and my pain,
But I shall kill myself -
Because this is my gane.
The day
© Copyright: Вацек Ян, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125020209202
Свидетельство о публикации №125020209202
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