You are losing me slowly
In the labyrinth of funny mirrors
In the monotonous performance
Of a provincial circus
Your gestures made absurd
By invisible obstacles
Your words heavily made-up
Smelling of years in naphthalene
I know that kind of horror
Tasteless days, blank pages of pleasure
The tedious love-making
To satiate boredom
Perfumed lies in comfortable cars
Life can be tolerated, after all
Sophisticated clowns discussing pain
You are letting my hand fall
You swallow illusions on the rocks
Without being deceived
Without noticing the loosened thread
A bird flying to the sea
Don’t bother you’ll get another
Basically they are all the same
Yes, I know that kind of horror
I used to live that way
Losing Me
© Copyright: Драгана Старчевич, 2018
Свидетельство о публикации №118020506143
Свидетельство о публикации №118020506143
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