How to tell that you're different
After this hard time?
How to admit you forgot
Their native hot hands?
How to say I don't wear flowers
On the graves, overgrown with reality.
How to tell what was dream come true,
And you've become grown up and strong?
Rarely I meet women.
Increasingly in skirts - men.
Surely women became less
And the mills they are not so easy.
Surely their words are simple
We began to understand not.
They are for the weak forgive us.
And we force them in any way.
There is a line, a trait, one for which
People become strangers.
And the one who was by your side,
Who knew one of your only name
Who was the hope and other,
Whom you stayed in this world,
Ago not going to jump with fright.
And someone to live... somewhere.
Time is squeezed in the hand gun.
Years fly away like lead.
Now. In order. Laid. Summer.
Pause. Shot. September. And... The End.
If the years that flew,
Although it comes at the end, achieved the goal,
It would not mind. If only managed.
And yet - in the "milk". And yet - in "jelly".
He has been completely happy, this feeling overwhelmed him and if overflowed, rippling under his dark skin. Of course, tonight could be really good, but not in my case. Wine, flowers, light instrumental music, cozy atmosphere, intoxicating scent of his perfume - it was the perfect romantic date, but not for me and not him.
Poor guy, he probably really thought I was inviting him to dinner, even with a friend, but for dinner! Date! Still, I have been treated unfairly, because I need a bait just for one night, not for life.
Until yesterday I had no idea that a strange man could charm and dazzle me, the sarcastic and principled girl in London. From the flood of memories the body ran trembling, still hard to live in peace with a sense of lost happiness. But I almost held it in my hands... Looked into his shining eyes and enjoy every second spent with him... with my lost happiness.
Tonight I cut the wings
Therefore, so vile whine the shoulders.
And everything I feared became a reality,
And the mantra was the phrase,"Time heals".
Tonight the wings broke off
Movement is rough and uncompromising...
I remember I once promised,
What it be harsh, painful, fast...
Ankle-deep in mud, tread feet,
I met with the earth, blood, dust...
I'm gradually getting used to pain -
Bear under his arm torn wings...
I'm so tired... To the wall to lean against I
Back flushed-inflamed
On the white paint remain bright
Traces of my payback for love.
