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teen poetry

dort durch das Fenster im alten Haus
entlang einem River-side
in den mournful Zahlen
ich halte Ihr Herz
er spricht nicht gut
wenn der rote Slayer denken, slays er
Sturm
durch die ausgedehnten schmerzende Brust der Masse
ich liebe die alten melodious Lagen
ich bilde meinen Abschirmrahmen, aber niemand weiß
geben Sie mich
umsponnen und gesponnen
meine Mutter twines mich die Roses, die mit Tau naß sind

 



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