I Am Your Cemetery

The poems spill out of my lips as if by a force of their own. The words come to me in flocks and then leave just as suddenly, like migrating birds. I am only the bed of water where they stop and restЧитать далее
The poems spill out of my lips as if by a force of their own. The words come to me in flocks and then leave just as suddenly, like migrating birds. I am only the bed of water where they stop and restЧитать далее