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gothic poetry

dicami non
lascilo essere triste
dialo
la luna aumentante ha nascosto le stelle
che cosa io devono voi
la mia anima è un campo arato scuro
con gli occhi meek e marroni
ci sono tre sensi in cui gli uomini prendono
una penna di acciaio
e pane del breaketh non di piĂą
un'ombra grigia sottile sul bordo di pensiero
musing, fra il tramonto e l'oscuritĂ 
perchè così triste mio bello?
quando ero un ragazzo all'universitĂ 

 



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