🦷🦷🦷🦷🔤🔤🔤🔤🔤🔤🔤
🦷🦷The rotting of my insides will become a sorrow for someone,
🦷🦷But for the voracious larvae,
🦷🦷My lungs or heart without a pulse,
🦷🦷It will be a feast for their miserable life.
🦷🦷Let my ribs be shown to the whole world,
🦷🦷And tired vertebrae,
🦷🦷Like wound arrows,
🦷🦷Reptilian spines hunched under the weight
🦷🦷A limp head.
🦷🦷And at least somewhere I will become loved,
🦷🦷After all, it's a feasting carrion
🦷🦷He will find his favorite dish...
🦷🦷🦷🦷◇ #Троттрисует ◇