Angels fly
above the sky,
where am I?
I think the fault is mine.I want to fly too
but I'm trapped by you
and when we reach the clue,
we fall even further down, good.My polar eyes...
now they realize
that you're my Eucharist,
to keep you, I broke you. Polarized.
STAI LEGGENDO
Aprosìa
PoetryLa brutale privazione della prosa, il totale abbandono della normalità.