The melancholy hovers
Her eyes on me,
What do you feel my heart
But a prison is
My suffering, blaming
measures I have I
No taste, the bitter
That is my existence.
Broken Promises,
failures looming,
A bitterness
unconsciously
lies in my body
Dying of pain,
I can not breathe,
With the blade of indifference
I broke my world
And I pierced
A stalemate in
What I am immersed
in a dilemma
That's not a dilemma,
But a feeling
Pure is my conviction.
© 2011 Rosana Marti
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