Those who love sensations
in their chest
more than events or people,
tell me what true is and how else
we may know about our affections.
One day we find ourselves without reason
under feeling arrest
empty
What should I do?
Is it the end?
(This is the end, The End, my beautiful friend. Jimmie)
Blaming ourselves, we aren't hungry anymore.
A human is like a fruit or meat, perhaps.
Eat me.
Should I be sweet after I'm full?
What a fool I was to cry love poems, bleeding.
And so my guitar...
In a strange bathtub she'll find a stranger
in water
submerged.
Lament for James
© Copyright: Олись Лапковский, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126061103993
Свидетельство о публикации №126061103993
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