anger

All have lost the last hope
wind, a woman can not be escaped no one to love.
I no longer carry the straw heap of happiness,
I can not do any of toilers miracle-making.
I hate you because you broke my soul.
Are nightingales in my soul remained silent,
only remains of their carcasses, which the wind
feathers come off. My body, it is like
The evil witch, who writes a clichéd stories.
I do not forgive you ever,
I tried it once, you came and you broke me
again into a thousand pieces. Now is not the left
other than against you.