***
And it imprinted on my stomach like an oil spill.
The taste of it haunts me in the darkness of my trashed apartment
And my heart itches whenever I feel petroleum in my breath.
Staging funerals, scratching monstrosities on the gravestone of yours,
Spitting my misery.
All of that to finally obtain peace and yet,
I still lie awake dreaming you this pallid winter night.
What an awful waste of energy to miss somebody
as if there ever was a way back.
Свидетельство о публикации №122012600821