I will have the same she said
The same bleak road the same shrill head
The same entangled whiskey dust
The parabola into rust
The same enticing little stare the same wet blanket the same despair
The same cold coughing rag of winter stuck inside the heart of splinter
Here you can have my ending
Wrote it fast it sucks I’m sorry
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem