...

This is a lost passenger station.
Those who do not hope are waiting here.
I'm waiting for myself.
Today.
Friday is Wednesday.
Wednesday is gray.

Roaring and howling trains.
Second, fifth, hundredth, blue ...
They pass.
They're coming.
Crumbs small, dotted, wet
And those fat words
These is my stage
Bloody money for a little fun
Blind people run in rage.

I want words and excuses here.
Here I want to trample everything.
To love and be silent, to hurt.
Here is the stain of Anna Karenina,
I'm writing.
Great writers also died here.
Later i will sing.

This is the last stop of my youth.
There are those who are afraid.
There I light a fire
That's where I stand.
Maybe I'll love you on the wire...



"Graveyard Lullaby"
By artistano1
@miraquill @writersnetwork #genuine_readers