Закрыть
Все сервисы
Главная
Лента заметок
Теги
Группы
Рейтинги

Measure

27 февраля´08 14:32 Просмотров: 319 Комментариев: 5
Measure my feelings with pointed needles.
Which get stuck in my lungs and prevent me to breath.
Measure insane of your Devil, your Vines.
Which danced with your past after their decease.
My happiness by summer death's-head moth flying,
Is tossing in someone’s clamped cruel palm.
And follow by broken rule, broken fake-sign
I am dying so slowly till the first light of down.
My pain is bowing to your certain possessing.
I can’t take away from my heart heavy quill.
Measure my weakness with sword ‘cas it’s pressing.
Measure my love ‘cas it bleeds crying still.
Пожаловаться
Комментариев (5)
Отсортировать по дате Вниз
БЕЗОБРАЗНИЦА  (аноним)  31.03.2008, 18:14
Оценка:  0
glad that u r fine :02:
you mean about someone's feelings.
It is awesome when yo can understand what they write about. :62:
БЕЗОБРАЗНИЦА  (аноним)  30.03.2008, 21:13
Оценка:  0
sorry, just saying what I felt when read it. :4:
does it mean that your mood is the same level? :04:
Ston    30.03.2008, 21:13
Оценка:  0
Ston
doesnt matter, i am great, i write about feelings but not what's going on in my private life.
БЕЗОБРАЗНИЦА  (аноним)  25.03.2008, 21:43
Оценка:  0
very depressive and miserable poem.
Ston    25.03.2008, 21:43
Оценка:  0
Ston
miserable?Great compliment, honey:)
Реклама