Shattering heart in a torturous chatter.
Tortuous paths to the garden of soul.
Sadly, I know it won’t make any better.
Nevertheless, I would die with no song.
Losing the point when my lines try to pierce it.
Lines I had sniffed made it even more worse.
Baby, this heaven’s unworthy of visit.
Weaving the words from the shreds of my nerves.
Money is stinky and money is nothing.
That’s what I thought ‘fore my hunger enraged.
When I saw love dressed in dream in the coffin
I realized I was raised in the cage.
Deadly depressed and neglected by angels.
Seeds of the lead crave to grow in my head.
Harrowing changes. I leaf though the pages
Looking for shelter to hide from the dread.
5th of May 2021.
Blood-Stained Poetry
© Copyright: Василий Васильевич Медведев, 2021
Свидетельство о публикации №121050407641
Свидетельство о публикации №121050407641
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