Everytime I think about my art
I somehow end up talking to you.
By the way, I don't know who you are.
My guardian angel? The famous God?
And whether you hear me or not,
I, too, have no clue.
But if you do, could you please explain
why I get my ability to write
only when I am in such degrading pain
that there's no other way out than suicide.
I honestly don't understand myself, I tried.
Is there really no other way to become the Apollo's bride?
Is there really no other way?
© Copyright: Мари Не Спится, 2020
Свидетельство о публикации №120080400166
Свидетельство о публикации №120080400166
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