i was walking
they were rolling
they were rolling
they were heads of humans
they were heads of faces
they turn black
and i see nothing
now i'm standing
but they keep rolling
YOU ARE READING
In The End, The Fault Was Mine. Not Your's, Not The World's
PoetryA poem collection. May be autobiography, may be biography. People will read the same words but think different things, feel different emotions. These poems may seem complicated, but are there simple in "life"?
001. Rolling
i was walking
they were rolling
they were rolling
they were heads of humans
they were heads of faces
they turn black
and i see nothing
now i'm standing
but they keep rolling
