Hot sun is shining over head
The wind is flirting with your hear
Your cheeks are slightly touched with red
And noone knows that you're dead
The clif you're standing on is high
And surely you're not coming back
You've stretched your arms wishing to fly
The world behind you turned to black
Suicide
© Copyright: Натали Собер, 2010
Свидетельство о публикации №110102802754
Свидетельство о публикации №110102802754
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