Death
death
death minor...
What if I write it fifty times?
Stars are still there...
You said their light
has passed close to your eyes...
So tell me, has it gone forever?
Am I a dead poet?
Probably no.
Probably, I'm just too sensitive.
I am.
Too sensitive to live, and
too sensitive to die.
Isn't it a margem de tudo?
And I'll be walking
until I'm exhausted.
But careful, for I'm alone.
By the force of love,
I can fall like a tear from your eyes,
By the force of hate,
I can fall like a knife from your hands...
No kidding
too serious
I am scared to death
because of the void.
Instil your coquetel into me,
by drops
via thin little tube
careful.
PSburnafterreading.
death minor
© Copyright: Melquihadez, 2002
Свидетельство о публикации №102040500053
Свидетельство о публикации №102040500053
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