Too many masks
hide no face beneath.
Too many beings,
no one to be with.
No, won’t make me grade
Black Masquerade...,
Till I could find you,
One of a kind.
Thick is the make-up,
powder and paint:
Love either lust, both
pleasure and pain.
Won’t lead me astray
Dark Cabaret…,
Till I could find you,
One of a kind.
Some hearts are to sing,
some are to bleed.
Too many Eves, where
are you, Lilith?
Uncertain, Astarte !
Since we’re apart,
Night dews are not sweet,
bitter caress…
My demoness
OOAK
© Copyright: Бедринский Андрей, 2018
Свидетельство о публикации №118021706060
Свидетельство о публикации №118021706060
Рецензии