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
