A Poem by Euchrid Eucrow 22. 23. 31

And she was born like beautiful boy
But she have strong femmine at her soul
Black hair like symbol of erotic breath
She change name and sex
She cut her wrist with briken glass
She kiss the man and she blow the night
Smile when ske find her fate at cabaret show
Like the dancer and like the drug
For man with empty universe
At eyes she was blind but she feel empathy
For weak soul for one more sex to go
Behind the red lamp she read letter with Norwegian stamp
Words like muse of dying love
Process of love can lead to violence
Her body changed to beaituful shape
Again with the pain
Travell over the winter night
That snow at one cup
She drink for her bild eye

Life and love at vein
Holding something like death bird
Cold at short skirt
Feel emotions of her tears
At her room with night shade
Slowly voice of scary ghost
Make vanish own past at smoke and dust
Like black and white
At play of right and wrong
Mouth are ready to explore
Next summer meetings at hot beach
Love what she can reach
If she take test of own faillures
And result will be clear like cold ocean
Mind can floating on the sky
And bells can have sound
At throat of her shine

She sit at calm mood
She dont answer anything what others want
She is lonely for lonely soul
Pleased own world with blood from her eyes
Broken mirror can never tell
Where is gate to own hell
Make it trap and catch nothing
Cause at live we dont be so easy to brake
Cause her live is at my shape
Cause slaughter is happen for our weaknes
So she stop think and she go away
With smile and drug at her vein
Blood stream carry her over land of logic death
Killing game what she never take
Killing time is for falling angels
Killing is birth of new way

On the stairs flowers from cementary
Letters from spy games
Make love with man of the hate
Burning deathly shadows
At one light we can see our self
And somebody come and kill the light with hate
And we are exposed to our self
And we regret anything bad what we done
But she not
She laugh to the night shaft
Deep hole with deep sound
Open the windows and fly
Dig own end
Find the what can make sense
On the bed
On her soul

© 2017 Euchrid Eucrow 22. 23. 31

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Added on April 23, 2016
Last Updated on October 24, 2017


Euchrid Eucrow  22.   23.   31
Euchrid Eucrow 22. 23. 31


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