bialy-motyl

                However hard you would try to read me like a book, you would be lost in the labyrinth of the past. Every time I reached the door of our 6 D, there was a gloomy shade emerging from behind the corner. And the worst thing was that I was no one in that game, like a pawn in a game of chess. Deep in the folds of my consciousness I knew that one day I could come back, never to go out. Having left scratches carved in the door frame.               The day came as a bolt from the blue, like the streams of ice water flowing through the veins. Some rough ha

The same sky windows burn in the bends of parchment because papyraceous the protrusions of lips are cedarn with the breath of creaking feathers remember all the reflections are only illusion and unruly souls in flight put out even wisps searing streams the first one stained with the need of love she sticks on glass the bare traces of fingers behind it the drops of dream are melted in one tell her how long she has to live incompletely in order not to burn suddenly in the clearance of clouds and also how to count the blue the mirror hid in dark frame here without gravitation released from hands it will not fall wi