Sunday, 29 November 2009

stolen.

I crumble in my own little shell. Throw out all the left memories and keep my self locked in the blossoms of darkness. In a tiny frame my soul is trapped. I trapped in myself. Cancelled all days and all nights; they are blended together. I would skip all holidays and miss every single celebrating day. This needs to be stopped. Stolen goods from the poor and misread letters from your and mine Buda. Never will i thank You for what you have done. Never again will i be able to appreciate the good things they have done for me.
I don't exist, not in the form that i used to.

2 comments:

the-same said...

Man tik ļoti gribējās kaut ko piebilst par šo rakstu, bet uzliekot savas rokas uz klaviatūras es nespēju salasīt savas domas kopā...šoreiz nespēju. Dīvaini.
Paldies. Liels paldies!That's all what I can say!
(Ammm... es īsti nezināju, kādā valodā man pienāktos rakstīt komentāru:) )

marta said...

paldies Tev!