What hopes have I got myself into this time?
Your hair is growing old with this moment
And here we are, falling away like leaves upon a dead ground.
I desperately count my worries away
For if I shall fall asleep with them,
I always wake up on the wrong side.
I scream the quietest secret
For no one can know
My mind observes
And states:
"What is this?"
No comments:
Post a Comment