poetry's all that had left
I spent
My time as a seeker of a cure
What a lure!
Days turned out draber than nights
He fights
Windmills far from home
He is gone.
In thick fake leather my ghost
became lost
And Im stuck in useless waiting
Im suffocating
My vigil's exhausted and flaunt
not to mention Im tired a lot
Salem's Lot
Is grabbing my waist like a pimp
Satisfying his whimp
Just wait
wait
wait it
to soak in your brain.
That insomniac visions of losing your mind
are standing behind,
hiding from sights.
Salem s Lot
© Copyright: Неттер Линг, 2020
Свидетельство о публикации №120082606054
Свидетельство о публикации №120082606054
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