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christmas poetry

il est allé
bruits qui tâchent de déchirer
je suis dans l'amour avec les endroits prévoyants élevés
babylon -- oů je vais ręver
treize ans toujours
dépassement par les murs blottis et laids
si le tueur rouge pensent il massacre
simplement parlant
dans l'obscurité et la paix de mon lit final
prenez mes bracelets
se reposer dans son culbuteur attendant votre thé
la fille, art de thou viennent pour mourir

 



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