 |
| How can you see a full life, |
 |
| through a small window, |
 |
| where nothing is present, |
 |
| and only scars talk to you? |
Lonely dry hands on the
floor
Tired of being in use
Tired of being abused
They linger through
uncertainty
And they regret those
moments
of pure misconception in
time.
They scream and they die
On every day routine,
dreadful.
They lie and they cheat
Under the covers of my
life.
And somehow they survive,
God,
that burden of human soul.
Dreadful.
 |
| Grab the tiny things, |
 |
| and rest them next to you with colors, |
 |
| in order to survive, |
 |
| the dreadful mornings. |
Photos taken with Iphone 4.
Vicky Griva Photography ©
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