Disease, like stoked glass
Im going through these
Dying slowly, staying on the muted pass
Forgiveness—like a robber on massacre trees
My resurrection, my heart's deal
I'm freaking, out of beating, feel
Step, out of mind, it can't be real
Who touched my soul,
Now cold like steel
It is abomination, so surreal
So recklessly im dive into abyss,
On knees,
My hope was ripped
Im glad you hit all notes
You never miss
No compromise
And words of these
Is not myself excuse
But there's no harm or prison of abuse
You flauted there's no love
Your words not bless
Like honey bees
Such needless fighting
Gathering of tears
Disease
© Copyright: Илья Ушанов, 2023
Свидетельство о публикации №123070803786
Свидетельство о публикации №123070803786
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