I’m lying on the cold wet floor of the jail
It’s the end of my world, no money, no air,
And blue jeans are not mine, dead man lent them for me,
In the pocket I keep the reflection of my misery.
All I have now is hope and a small broken mirror,
I’m a poor insomniac lost any fears,
And the piece of the glass in my left aching hand
keeps the features of mine that the walls can forget...
The prisoner
© Copyright: Джули Мэлт, 2012
Свидетельство о публикации №112101808256
Свидетельство о публикации №112101808256
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