It's already January and it's not much longer,
We are breaking promises, as they have passed,
We give up cigarettes, lose weight, light up dreams,
February welcomes us with half dead.

How much longer can we be mad?
We do repetitions with the same end,
We have an acute lack of courage in the veins,
With success at the door, we dream of him on the pillows.

I know, you are different, not like other eggshells,
What does your dream do, how does it breathe from the gutter?
I don't want an answer, a reply, an apology,
I was wondering in the mirror, having a muse.


Iustin Miron

This poem is about: 
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