Tuesday, 18 May 2010


It's sometimes difficult not to be mad. Or sad. I don't know.. Mostly, I think, it's just a grim share of teenage melancholy - but I'm not going to judge myself. I have to let the sun warm me, cause I can't do that myself. And here comes the pocket-poetry in. I hope you can bear with me, cause I'm going to spill it here. Sorry. /Amanda

Sunny bed
In the middle of a living world
Particles of light turn
With dust in the quiet air
They unite to one
Over a sunny bed

Silent heart
In the middle of a living body
Streams of blood run
With hurry in the veins
But it doesn't feel a thing
My silent heart

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