Who is going to feed the birds ?

Relaxing back and looking to myself into the mirror, I’ve found someone who is supposed to be me, and wiothout a pity I’ve dropped down my pen, the ink, blue and bloody draw a line, a vertical reflection my mind, appologize this incovenience , thing will never be the same, I’m goind ahead, the wind is a stream, my brainsickness laughing at like a stone, while I was trusting the rain, the wet words flees my deep inconsceince : “Who’s gonna feed the birds”.
I’m here, like anything, and you are playing with the lines of the showers of a sunlight, it’s nor darkness nor the full bightness bath, it’s a constrast between me and you; business of a psycho letting down that matter, killing the pain with one hand and making miles of peacefull green around my doubt,I’m flying higher and higher, no the moon is out, and my nightmare is all the things got !
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