deepundergroundpoetry.com
Lonely Of The Last Drop
Hearing the knocking of night
listening to the tapping, as before
feeling brass of candlelight
in gothic limbo as I screech
from my mind staring back at me
touched by the raptures
where dark dwells, dripping
with a shadow of me stumbling
sailing away on insomnia's glider
with a melancholia resin of cello
only for the lonely of the last drop
listening to the tapping, as before
feeling brass of candlelight
in gothic limbo as I screech
from my mind staring back at me
touched by the raptures
where dark dwells, dripping
with a shadow of me stumbling
sailing away on insomnia's glider
with a melancholia resin of cello
only for the lonely of the last drop
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