don't you get up too fast
at the set of the morning tide.
unclinge your weary head,
shut now them closing eyes.
Orbits are still on turn,
making another round.
sleep till the mayhem's burnt,
nevermind shaking ground.
they say they get how this feels.
but you find them insincere.
dinner with freaks and creeps,
vampire's party here.
you toss and turn in your bed,
struggling with gone out sheeps.
snakes skin is being shed,
meta ironic skit.
art: brom
merlot red
© Copyright: Неттер Линг, 2023
Свидетельство о публикации №123020204282
Свидетельство о публикации №123020204282
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