I am the ghost of bird in guilty rain, -
It's flying messy through my black bloodstain;
I am the waxwork, rounded by the fog,
That barks - woof! - in the night like crazy dog.
What have I done, oh, please, I was morose,
I've been depression point with leaky pose.
Don't understand me, don't forgive me, friend,
Cause you're the one, who calls me gently ''tent''.
Okay, I will be, probably, the word,
And you'll be decimating (total sword)
At five o'clock, and, maybe, t'shining moon
Will suffocate in tar of afternoon.
Spectre of fear
© Copyright: Ками Кагено, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125061603621
Свидетельство о публикации №125061603621
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