in the air
it hovers up,
floating high, like a kite -
a silly dream,
a manic scheme
that got me hooked up.
I watch desires.
Up above.
There it goes.
Very far.
Far it was.
Now it's close.
A shooting star
that I've caught with bare hands.
it's rather bloody.
Or pure white.
It tickles up my weary mind.
I barely sleep on,
barely rest,
there's total rush upon my chest.
my soul is traded,
it's alive.
It flashes slightly
through the light.
locked in the locket.
but oh inside my pocket a granted wish
Oh Crito, I owe Asclepius a rooster
© Copyright: Неттер Линг, 2023
Свидетельство о публикации №123070703876
Свидетельство о публикации №123070703876
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