В том случайном городе, где был однажды ты,...

In that random city where you once were
Still cynical and invariably gloomy.
You inhaled gray weight plainly.
And on the lost paths your tracks still seem.

Now mole piercing in the soul and no longer a dream.
My poems are wrong to you and traditionally unsuccessful.
After chaos, I am exhausted, my flesh is translucent.
There is no warmth of a cold shade of the eyes, only common features.
© cold_torch