January 15, 1815
Journal,
Its cold. My Cibo 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 cappotto and shoes. My hair is falling out. I look at the broken down train behind us. Tree’s sleep soundlessly on superiore, in alto of it. I sit at a albero trunk, with te 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 Cibo 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 cappotto and shoes. My hair is falling out. I look at the broken down train behind us. Tree’s sleep soundlessly on superiore, in alto of it. I sit at a albero trunk, with te 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
she unloads his gun
She and he waits for this
he releases his love
In blue and green orbs
she gives him più and more
A million miles away
A million years girl
In a black woven chest
he digs his nails deep
She trusts in him for what he does
live in a house in the suburbs
He kisses the pain with blood and light
sleeping it off in the morning
A million miles away
A million years girl
In her world of his
she unloads his gun
In a world of his
she covers the sun
A million miles away
A million years
A million years girl