April. And there is no apparent reason,
But dropped my poor shoulders.
As if I was a hundred years older.
Probably just for the joy of season.
Do you each time you become clever.
I am each time more and more like a dust.
I'm tired of crazy. I can not trust.
I pricked my hand and heart again. Never.
I do not care. To sleep in a crystal coffin.
So that the walls are not rested on my wings.
And some sleep before the eternal spring.
And maybe a cigarette and a cup of coffee?
Why do I need the sweetness of sugar?
Prior to my sorrow, I'm only on my knees.
Shoot me! You feel sorry for me. You are missed.
Or are you just really bad shoot. I'm not sure.
Dark around. I feel like the fading comet.
The fire somehow always brings me pain.
Rain under the eyelids. I fired on your flame again.
But in eternity prolong a painful moment.
My april
© Copyright: Дарья Бутакова, 2012
Свидетельство о публикации №112040404574
Свидетельство о публикации №112040404574
Рецензии