The pleasure to speak is my lost privilege, And now insanity dwells on a page, However, it's changing the color in days, Revealing the truth my white pencil portrays. But I'm getting sick of the poetess' fate, I only enliven the worlds your create, Denying the myths you don't want to believe, Or perpetuate every side of my grief. Today it's triangular, soon to be square, Or even linear, in case you are there, You skillfully play with my changeable mood, I'd steal such a talent from you if I could. I paint the reality, live in a dream, Duality kills me, I just want to scream, I'll find the salvation when holding you close I'll speak of my feelings and keep them in prose.
67 2 года
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