It’s always the same.
It never stops.
I just blast off,
looking forward to the new day.
But night waits for me.
At nights everything arrives.
The most painful is the one
that I return into my eye,
hoping it won’t flow,
the one that I have to hide in a moment.
All others roast my face by the fear
that someone may discover them in the morning.
This one is not from The Blackberries Field. It's from the one of my old collections - Vanilla.