Breathe is beyond fortunate-tease,
It can't really be real indulging pine you can't even pound.
Street is the only address. Tunnel is my adope.
Grave soul debark'd, then everything went pale.
Death unload'd pot before froth,
O, what an utterly rainless on harvest(time);
My stink heart is nothing as rotten fruit.
For my pale eyes grow liquid.
brain is somber and stride most far bliss.
Can I breathe not to anguish ?
Not anguish just to breathe, Can't that be enough? Nor no buy a bag of rice for my muddle.
Is not swarthy and hideous, none but poverty.


© Vanele Mtileni