This is poetry

I'm tired of Aliski. 9 sections already written, oh. This is my first attempt to "transform" a true personal story into prose. Who cares how it works, the last part written here. But the story is not over!

I woke up early, on the way a beautifully planned day. I want to write a fun and optimistic poem. And it turned out as usual. Well, what is it ... why they make me sad, I do not understand! Here, look.

I flipped the notebook backwards.

I will start writing from the end, not from the beginning.

Suddenly this clever time will unfold, this will

making you remember what you dreamed of.

Feel the confusion of the soul,

Born of love, not suffering?

My pencil is broken,

I can not overcome the burden and hard work.

I sharpen them, and I write again, me

drawing a point without hope.

I will not tell you about him.

I think you do not need it.

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