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12:59, 13 ноября 2011

my poem

Night. To me it is not slept. An empty cup and the broken dreams.
I one. Alone. It is gloomy the dog among silence barks.
Let I cry. Eyes have swelled up. Hands to shiver.
Song. Grief. Tears. I want to escape.
Whether the love is it?
I thought about myself.
I write. The story and different verses.
It is beautiful. Sad eyes. A gloom
Pain. A gloom. Silence. Grief. A sound of bells.
It has left. In a head a brothel
It is beautiful. Red lips.
It one. In a shower its Pain.
Evening. A supper. Salt
Wedding. Rings. The groom
One among strangers.
Piece of glass among diamonds.
Laughter. Hypocrisy. An ego
It as Alesha Karamazov
Nobody will understand it except it …
It one. It is lonely. The stranger among the.
Diamond among pieces of glass.
The gold boy.
Apollo - to it equal isn't present.
To it it is lonely. To wander. A smoke from cigarets
Wandering about the past. The sun. A dandelion.
She wanders in those places, where also it.
Where were only together.
Memoirs. Laughter. A smile.
November. Foliage. Park lonely.
It went. It went.
There were eyes. A sight deep.
Fleeting meeting.
«Look back your destiny by has passed!»

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