You're my rock bottom,
No further down.
Pushing away with both feet,
I'm leaving you where you belong—
With your phantoms.
You are my Ten of Swords,
Went through me,
But only killed the body.
Rising above it is the Spirit
You have never seen.
You are my Waterloo—
Expectations burst,
Smoke of gunpowder over fields,
The smell of surrender and retreat.
The only way I knew you.
You are my past perfect tense—
Gone, but still lingering.
Never looking to make amends.
I will be leaving,
No prints on my fingertips.
Rock bottom
© Copyright: Евгений Андросян, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125032300755
Свидетельство о публикации №125032300755
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