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suicide poetry

aimez-moi enfin, ou si vous pas
je secoue mes cheveux dans le vent du matin
indéfiniment
l'obscurité
dépassement par les murs blottis et laids
nous avons aucune honte?
la fille, art de thou viennent pour mourir
ils me demandent où j'ai été
mon âme est un champ labouré foncé
le jour est fait
juste en tant que mes doigts sur ces clefs

 



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