thel-thalion
Я буду портить твою жизнь, я буду грызть в ней дырки! (с)

The shaky twilight of the carriage
Is halted in a stretch of night.
All clatter of half-empty luggage
And painted faces out of sight.
You think how soon we planned a marriage,
A wreath of lilies on your head.
In your demands you know no shortage
And press them to whatever end.
At times, I wish that I was elsewhere,
Unbound to you and not obliged
To bear the masked contempt,
To taste each day a bitter measure,
And every night to lie denied,
Belonging to the you who lied. 30.01.12 – 07.02.12

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