The snow in true eyes,
So clean on sky lines,
I breath in my mind's,
No hate, cuz I'm blind.
Suspect in my life
That I dance under the arrange.
Effect in the strife
That I manse after the derange.
What sense of your numb time,
If you waste all of your vitality?
Maybe try to pick some rime
That you change all of your reality.
Breath
© Copyright: Герман Кузнецов, 2018
Свидетельство о публикации №218090401448
Свидетельство о публикации №218090401448
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