Thoughts begin to crumble in slow,
Rolling down into shards right onto the floor.
Blood mixed with a strangely bitter liqueur.
And now I feel like I'm not afraid to fall anymore.
Do you hear this strange consonance of these words,
The softness of the velveteen fabric on those old cushions...?
Do you think I'll feel better with another love dose?
As I hold my poor heart, boy, keep your eyes closed.
It beats in my hands so desperately that it hurts,
It is eager to dance this silently burning waltz,
Under the rain of birds singing cheerful funeral songs
I suffocated myself with a line that I was so afraid to cross.
чт, 9 янв. 2025 г., 17:26
Thoughts begin to crumble in slow
© Copyright: Дарина Виленская, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125011100069
Свидетельство о публикации №125011100069
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