You grew, you breath, you fly, you cry
Debates are strong
To mother – no, and father.. No - he is ignored…
Old piano playing stupid sound. Just roaring up and never down. You walk from corner into dark, from black into the yellow mark. You always liked Alice. Her Wonderland. Her big wild eyes, her troubled skies. Her hands in silky baby cream, her fingers, red in noiseless scream…
So you grow up. И глядя с пола на кровать, свернув лицо от взгляда вночь, как ты хотел бы превозмочь, this grey и colorless пейзаж, that they had built with effort - Прячь! Прячь! Прячь! Пунцовое лицо с глазами Alice, blinked in mirror, just a little, but so much.
Свидетельство о публикации №110100500569