Boris Red. (№ 270900)

Lamppost, I welcome you.
For a late passer-by you by the way.
I lean a shoulder. Tell me, what
Pores
The way we cover the tears?
I'm only nineteen, and already
I know exactly where and how to die -
First of all leave, and then
Sell all the books. Next will be the cold,
I can not stand.
Man,
Your iron ages the Shine of tears
Glass. So enlighten me the way
Home
let it not thorny -
I'm drunk today.