I hate to bathe in the sea
Made of paper
You see,
I would rather hate you
Drop your princess talk
Made of glass
I still step on your coloured chalk
That smells like lust
This morning I was awakened
By the strings of your hair
That smelt like smoke
But why should I care?
I can see through the walls
Of my shell
I'm just no longer
Under your spell.
Under your spell
© Copyright: Дмитрий Грий, 2011
Свидетельство о публикации №111102903323
Свидетельство о публикации №111102903323
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