You have made my rhymes drunk,
And now they refuse to keep order.
You’ve squeezed me into a trunk,
And dropped me at disputed border.
Into your face I have smiled
In the lamest possible ways,
Faking perfection while
You carried on with your days.
You’ve turned me into an actress,
Sadly, a second-rate,
The type who works as a waitress,
The one whose job is to wait.
19.06.2017
адреса: https://www.poetryclub.com.ua/getpoem.php?id=738528
Рубрика: Лірика кохання
дата надходження 20.06.2017
автор: Wiggily