November

Виктория Горлова Ли
I will probably die in November
Within desolate woods and still water
Burning half of my soul into ember
Treating half of my essence as mortar

I will probably turn into creature
With the pulse imperceptibly quiet
Every critical moment I’m reaching
Is provoking immaculate riot

I will probably block my direction
And get rid of my senses and tears
Mirror fully ignores my reflection
My existence remains unclear

I will probably die in November
In the middle of tight-binding hours
Burning half of my soul into ember
Overcasting my sky with the flowers


© Copyright: Виктория Горлова Ли, 2017
Свидетельство о публикации №117102805914
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