Do you hear ?
Do you hear my dream ?
My face in the maze don't droping in Paris,
We can't see our face in the mirror to this.
Slowly, freakly and break him to the sound of hate.
We can't see our face in his mind before we ate,
His mind.
My door is open, my heart is burning again.
The death bus is waiting for us, and trying.
To get in child, we rock all around in the sweet chain.
YOU ARE READING
Strange Days - Collection of Poems
PoetryFor a considerable duration, I've dedicated myself to crafting an array of poetry and songs, often intertwining the two. The allure of poetry lies in its melodic potential, a quality absent in what some might label as lifeless words. It's this attri...
