Don’t look into his eyes.
There is no soul or passion.
But only dark impression
Of cold that stills and lies.
Don’t listen to his voice
That seems so sweet and tender.
For him we are just toys
Without soul and gender.
He plays and then forgets
And leaves without turning,
But giving you regrets
For next unfortunate morning.
Devil
© Copyright: Лиз Цуркан, 2019
Свидетельство о публикации №119090204197
Свидетельство о публикации №119090204197
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