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gothic poetry

der Geruch von stieg so falsch, die zutreffenden Dornen so
meine Mutter twines mich die Roses, die mit Tau naĂź sind
ich stehe im kalten grauen Wetter
sehen Sie, sie zurĂĽckgehen
als ich ein Junge an der Hochschule war
wölbte die Flut
diese sind
oben auslösen, unten fallend
ich bildete ein Versprechen einmal, eins nur
ich sehe einen Stern heute abend

 



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