I
I heard from a rumor that I am ahead
I am my shadow, sleeping still in bed
My voice not distinct, barely a whisper instead
Severed at the root, gutted, I’m in red
Dying a flower, curling in the sunlight with dread.
II
A broken wish
A pull of the
mood (1)
I
I heard from a rumor that I am ahead
I am my shadow, sleeping still in bed
My voice not distinct, barely a whisper instead
Severed at the root, gutted, I’m in red
Dying a flower, curling in the sunlight with dread.
II
A broken wish
A pull of the
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