A pale trace

in poetry •  7 years ago 

emito.jpg




For days in my soul, I bleed
pain, smile sweet or maybe tears,
it turns into an obscure darkness -
a child crying in a snowy winter forest.
I have days in my heart
a hollow, purposeless lie passionately spits,
what I am, where I'm going,
why did I want to fly with you?
A vague memory of your eyes in me is burning,
a memory of love how the soul burns,
a memory of jealousy, lust, and sadness,
I turn away - pale, indifferent, rusty trace ...



Goodbye and Kisses ...

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