Into pieces Bashny.Net

< Anshe



Not a coffee slowly, rarely on Sundays,
net-four breaths without exhaling boldly - and fit in Lulu,
into numbness, into the abyss, in a whisper: "I love you,
my dream, the elusive robber sick time,
tear inside the walls of hours of sand. ' "
Let the pieces mixed with sand will lay me,
zasyplyut with head, hide, and not otroyut,
from day to big-eyed alone the first night,
so as not to hear koty- barefoot on the roof,
cat-like roar, wishing the moon in a vest,
and do not see how light it flies out of the window of mosquito nets
milk haze guys who hate.
I'll leave the US in a memory- pain on the phrase,
On (each different, and in his own evil) the truth.
Multilayer leather coat I do not like ...
In the meantime, I would fall asleep and wake up ... posleza for
Pillars of Melqart, in Nenashev century or
somewhere where "iytsy" mercilessly shoot "iytsev" ...
Somewhere in hell, where the air, the light, and strange faces,
but not where it is so stupid and weird nedolyubili.