Such a gloomy day,
Such a naked rain,
Like cold tears from heaven,
And here we are standing,
Under the parasol of pain.
We will neither return again,
Nor even ask of this.
It's like an old disease:
No one knows but you,
But you pretend untrue
Asking any questions,
The greatest distraction
Which you're still following
As if you're borrowing
Some newly born words,
And it so much hurts.
22.11.2025 00:11
