I was killed by this May.
So I don't feel the beautiful smell.
I see a wonderful day
but my brain remembers of terrible things.
I can't take it anymore everyday.
I don't forget about it even I've already asleep.
The Sun burns my soul
and exacerbates my very deep pain.
Today was one of the nice days.
Only my heart is broken anyway.
May, I beg you: go away!
17 May 18
The killed by this May
© Copyright: Понотамжизни, 2018
Свидетельство о публикации №118051709492
Свидетельство о публикации №118051709492
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