constantly stepping on the same rake.
squeezing the sap outta same fruit.
t'was an awaiting of the hard break,
jonesing of recent longing heartache.
I'm strung out, I'm dope sick, I need you
don't want your guise as a souvenir
In the attic upstairs, left to gather dust.
filter through words that are coming clean,
they'll never become any solid lean.
Words aren't something that unite us.
dusk covers sunsets, so it dims light.
driving 'cross the woods breathing smoke and fog.
i stepped on the water down, i felt a rug.
im going back fast, feeling twilight.
feeling twilight
© Copyright: Неттер Линг, 2021
Свидетельство о публикации №121070906344
Свидетельство о публикации №121070906344
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