A soul ,
a nefelebata soul
wandering in a brumous day …
with her stiched heart ,
   she heals her wounds with hope ,
she keeps her erlebnisse in a jar ,
   she carries her secrets in scars ..
and she goes on and on ,
  she listen to the dark ,
in the dark she listen her screams …
   she can’t take her cordolium anymore ,
she’s on way to absquatulate…
        she is me ,
   a piece of me died ….

- Manya