• Polina Gazeeva


Maybe we will never make it home

Frozen in the middle of a crossroad.

Wondering through the night and can't let go

The holy emptiness that is my soul.

Maybe just blissful ignorance

And trying the best to feel.

Blurry vision and trembling fingers

Whiskey made it seem too real.

Maybe tomorrow it will be gone

Swiping everything away along.

Violent division of past and future

I don't think I will make it home.

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