Cold summer abyss
Мороз по коже, трещина сна,
Объятия пустых дней,
Забытые слова ветра,
Я не создал своих идей.
Темнота скрывает солнце,
Дышу холодом тумана,
Бездна пронзает душу,
Лето умерло внутри меня.
Где-то в холодных глубинах,
Я тонку рву свои мечты,
Пустая бездна зовёт меня,
Летний лёд, моя тишина.
Cold summer abyss
© Copyright: Артём Автухович, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125061700391
Свидетельство о публикации №125061700391
Рецензии
My skin is frozen solid,
Cracks run through broken dreams.
Embraced by empty days,
The winds hum forgotten themes.
No thoughts come down the line,
Darkness devours the sun.
I breathe in fog and silence—
The abyss has just begun.
Summer lies dead within,
Buried in winter’s reign.
In the deepest chill I shiver,
And tear through dreams again.
The void calls out my name,
Its silence wraps me tight.
The frost of summer lingers—
I vanish in its white.
I am the one to blame,
Complicit in retreat.
Avoidance is my shelter,
Loneliness, my beat.
All around feels hollow,
Their kindness just a mask.
Friends turn into cronies,
Their loyalty won’t last.
Relatives are drowning,
In debt, regret, and doubt.
Their carelessness cuts deeply—
And I can't tune it out.
I’ve got stories I could tell—
But most would rather run.
So I carry them in silence,
And face the setting sun.
Влад Восток 17.06.2025 03:28 • Заявить о нарушении
Cracks run through broken dreams.
Embraced by empty days,
The winds hum forgotten themes.
No thoughts come down the line,
Darkness devours the sun.
I breathe in fog and silence—
The abyss has just begun.
Summer lies dead within,
Buried in winter’s reign.
In the deepest chill I shiver,
And tear through dreams again.
The void calls out my name,
Its silence wraps me tight.
The frost of summer lingers—
I vanish in its white.
I am the one to blame,
Complicit in retreat.
Avoidance is my shelter,
Loneliness, my beat.
All around feels hollow,
Their kindness just a mask.
Friends turn into cronies,
Their loyalty won’t last.
Relatives are drowning,
In debt, regret, and doubt.
Their carelessness cuts deeply—
And I can't tune it out.
I’ve got stories I could tell—
But most would rather run.
So I carry them in silence,
And face the setting sun.
Влад Восток 17.06.2025 03:28 • Заявить о нарушении