There is no life... |
To die so it is sick...
Sometimes it seems that death close...
That it breathes to you in a nape...
And its hands are compressed at you on a throat...
Æèçíü íå ïîäõîäèò ê êîíöó. Ïðîñòî ÷òî-òî ãëîæåò... Íàäåþñü âñå áóäåò â ïîðÿäêå.
Íå äîêóðåííàÿ ïà÷êà ñèãàðåò, êíèãà, êîôå è ìóçûêà... Âîò òàê íàâåðíîå äîëæíà âûãëÿäåòü àáñòðàêòíàÿ êàðòèíà ìàñëîì "Ìå÷òû îáûâàòåëÿ". Îáäàëáàòñÿ íàôèã. Ïî÷åìó âñåì âäðóã òàê âåñåëî. È íèêòî íå çàõîäèò ê ñòàðîìó äîáðîìó... *êõå-êõå*
Íè÷åãî ñòðàøíîãî, ìû óìååì... Ìû ìîæåì è áåç âñåõ ïðîæèòü... Ñíîâà? Ñíîâà... Ñíîâà! ß ãîòîâ, ÿ îòäîõíóë è äàæå ñîñêó÷èëñÿ...
Çäðàâñòâóé íåáî...
| Êîììåíòèðîâàòü | « Ïðåä. çàïèñü — Ê äíåâíèêó — Ñëåä. çàïèñü » | Ñòðàíèöû: [1] [Íîâûå] |