down down down the street, long walk.
we might sigh, but we don't talk.
this is how it 'sposed to be, i guess.
you ain't proud of me, i reckon.
you turn the face away for second.
It's sort of bruising.
that's harshest loosing.
you hug me whispering "you're loser".
yeah, your son' a boozer,
but i feel even less.
all this antsy keeps me shaking.
"don't you cry there, be awaiting.
it'll all unfold".
your heart was gold.
my souls is fading
like a late autumn.
i smoke now, and i'm a waste of air.
i smell my fright right everywhere.
i weep apart.
i promised that i'll hold on tight.
i scratch myself to blood at night,
i carry a wolfscar.
Wolfscar!
© Copyright: Неттер Линг, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126051906332
Свидетельство о публикации №126051906332
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