Under the ribbed vaults,
The temple of my anxiety.
The fingers with sharp claws
Try to find a way out…
Inner demon - is my heart -
Quietly yearns.
And I sing him lullabies
From the other side.
With bated breath
I listen to how
Blood runs cold
And how my bones
Are covered with mold.
Everything I have
Is a sense of snow
And a silent place
For the wounded soul.
Inner demon
© Copyright: Твоя Шизофрения, 2018
Свидетельство о публикации №118122400066
Свидетельство о публикации №118122400066
Рецензии