Secret Letters
Standing in the window in my attic room I can hear the noise of the city... With my eyes closed I'm imagining clean sheet of paper in which I will write a poem for myself. Even though I don't have any pen, I will paint the words with my own blood... Or maybe it's just red wine?? As long as I can write, as long as you cannot read this I can live calmly in my empty garret, without any regrets...
Slowly I don't have any space, my room is full of pieces of paper, dancing with the wind on my wooden floor. It is not dance of death, it's just my imagination... Don't worry... I will hide my letters before you will come, finally... It's my secret...
Slowly I don't have any space, my room is full of pieces of paper, dancing with the wind on my wooden floor. It is not dance of death, it's just my imagination... Don't worry... I will hide my letters before you will come, finally... It's my secret...