I scribbler, not help it, afraid I do not want.
"purification"
Waste of time flowing through the grille of the fingers, and every drop
brings me closer to madness.
damp hollows brittle brick foundations of my faith in
that rule the world single concentrated feeling. Thickened
fear with all my strength builds the walls of the uncertainty of the love
he did an altar around which I build the scaffolding for the stubborn hope.
And sometimes, despite this, there is a hole between the clouds
evil thoughts, showing me her smile and cheerful look.
Then again, the real life blood, the breath is lighter, with no wheezing.
confident I can again make progress.
