Hundreds of miles
Away from where I burned my hopes.
With every screaming second
Distancing even farther.
Save yourself,
Run as fast as you can.
Don’t stop until you’re far enough
And never cast a single look back.
Promise me you’ll never look back.
Somehow I know that you are smiling
Although I am not looking at your face.
I watch you as you wash your hands of.
My blood… please don’t wash it off of your hands.
I want for it to stay there as a keepsake,
A red Remembrall glowing with reproach.
‘Sides, it suits your iron sweater
And the terra-cotta button
Just above your left ear
That says,
‘Call the engine driver.’
15 Dec 2011
Call The Driver
© Copyright: Богдан Зырянов, 2013
Свидетельство о публикации №113011009120
Свидетельство о публикации №113011009120
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