January 15, 1815
Journal,
Its cold. My food is almost gone, I can’t feel my hands. I lost my hat; my ears are frozen. My sisters are dying. Sasha has pneumonia, and Nastea’s lost her mantel and shoes. My hair is falling out. I look at the broken down train behind us. Tree’s sleep soundlessly on puncak, atas of it. I sit at a pohon trunk, with anda on my lap, and a scrawny pencil in my hand. Nastea sits beside Sasha, feeding her berries and herbs. I hope things get better, Journal. I hope things get better.
Bye Journal,
Nadia
Journal,
Its cold. My food is almost gone, I can’t feel my hands. I lost my hat; my ears are frozen. My sisters are dying. Sasha has pneumonia, and Nastea’s lost her mantel and shoes. My hair is falling out. I look at the broken down train behind us. Tree’s sleep soundlessly on puncak, atas of it. I sit at a pohon trunk, with anda on my lap, and a scrawny pencil in my hand. Nastea sits beside Sasha, feeding her berries and herbs. I hope things get better, Journal. I hope things get better.
Bye Journal,
Nadia
I am bored with love
and it's passionless limbs
that drape over my bed
in a lethargic state of impotence
while wearing the same red heart
my soul picked up hitchhiking
off highway serendipity
Now here we are
alone in togetherness
trying to build dreams
with two oleh fours and glue,
but even a home
won't tie us together
when our hearts live alone
Poetic vows cliched
into nothingness
like all words do, eventually
and we allowed our bodies to become another pair of hollow shadows that make cinta to a wall
instead of each other
and we wonder why
the mawar are dying
and it's passionless limbs
that drape over my bed
in a lethargic state of impotence
while wearing the same red heart
my soul picked up hitchhiking
off highway serendipity
Now here we are
alone in togetherness
trying to build dreams
with two oleh fours and glue,
but even a home
won't tie us together
when our hearts live alone
Poetic vows cliched
into nothingness
like all words do, eventually
and we allowed our bodies to become another pair of hollow shadows that make cinta to a wall
instead of each other
and we wonder why
the mawar are dying
I remember the times of the i cinta you's
and times when it was i hate you.
But anda come back begging at me feet.
And when my pity defeated me.
and the sweet seranades, in our matching shades.
My rose collection, evidence of your effection.
The sheets unmade, from the nights anda stayed.
The child in me, from the times anda loved me.
The debt anda owe, from using the word borrow.
The times i was scared, was the time anda spared.
And this dress i wear, in which are people become aware, that anda are gone, and withdrawn.
The memories i hold, they are written in bold.
my broken heart, from when anda apart.
so rest now my love, up now from above.
and times when it was i hate you.
But anda come back begging at me feet.
And when my pity defeated me.
and the sweet seranades, in our matching shades.
My rose collection, evidence of your effection.
The sheets unmade, from the nights anda stayed.
The child in me, from the times anda loved me.
The debt anda owe, from using the word borrow.
The times i was scared, was the time anda spared.
And this dress i wear, in which are people become aware, that anda are gone, and withdrawn.
The memories i hold, they are written in bold.
my broken heart, from when anda apart.
so rest now my love, up now from above.