My feet will dance no more.
The rhythm won't be counted.
The beat won't go to 8.
My heart won't hear the music
and my body won't concentrate.
My thoughts seem so scattered,
hidden inside my mind.
My dreams all seem so shattered.
My shoes now stained red
and the beats cut into four.
I lay my head to rest
because my feet will dance no more.
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ПоэзияMy mind is like a poisoned apple. From a simple glance, everything seems fine. But once you taste it, it becomes a whole different story. . . . Highest Ranking: [#66 in Poetry]
