You know, Lycoris, my sweet...
A hundred pale ribbons of red
Spider Lily, a ghost I meet,
In a dawn that just bleeds in my head.
Six months... what a deadline to choose...
God, it’s not funny anymore!
Sour apple cider, a bitter bruise —
It’s poison, but it warms to the core.
Why didn't you trust in your heart?
Why bring on the polar night?
Two and a half hertz, falling apart...
And nothing can make it right!
You know, Lycoris, the choice —
Was the only thing left to save.
Sour apple cider to drown out the voice,
Drinking it down to the grave.
Two and a half hertz...
Maybe every damn night.
Until the heart just stops.
Pain. Cold. Shards. Goodnight.
Lycoris, darling
© Copyright: Алекс Мунк, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126061604426
Свидетельство о публикации №126061604426
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