Depression
The sun with bloody eye
wants to expel me from this world.
I want to poison myself with gas,
But we have no gas at our home!
Misfortunes and troubles,
like noisy ladies
are thrown into my face roughly.
I would like to be a bird
To fly up above mountains of sorrow,
And then downwards – to merge
With waves of the warm sea.
Copyright © Dina Televitskaya | Year Posted 2007
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