27 kasım/ november 27

wind goes off again, I sigh and forget. while English never seems to fully reflect, there is still pain. going down the stairs to lay on the dark, to watch my eyes to be the only brightness to watch of, i think. i think death. in this strange language i'm not sure to talk on, there is one thing apparent in the darkness of my eyes, i think death.
a collection of poetry based on my day, starting in noon, ending at night.