Walking away is the thing I can do,
And it is the sin, that I can do?
But I don’t believe,
That you may forgive…
I’m afraid of it. I am so scared,
That I’ll kill myself if I make it,
And I’m tired from this.
I miss you? I miss!!!
And I’m afraid of mistake,
So please, just take
My grief, my pain
And throw it away…
And throw all it away…
I’ll turn off computer, but file,
The file with my bad-english rhyme
Will wait for it’s time.
And I will wait, and I will write
Without mistakes, but not so right
To call myself an engish poet.
And I will wait, I’ll wait for you
\\\ You know the rhyme-
………………………………………
Waiting is killing.
And killing with knife.
Slowly but hard.
Opening heart
Is bleeding, it hurts…
And it burns
And destroy itself
This poem really sux,
But I’m writing just because
I can’t do anything more.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry…
мой плохой англииский
© Copyright: Иннокентий Бездредов, 2008
Свидетельство о публикации №108092803662
Свидетельство о публикации №108092803662
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