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suicide poetry

les cieux qu'ils étaient ashen et sobre
substance de la lune
pour ces bras blancs au sujet de mon cou
elle pourrait l'avoir su en ressort premier
pour vêtir la pensée ardente
il était un jeune oysterman grand
les jours hypocrites
bien que repine d'amour, et frottement de raison
dans des nombres mournful
affligez-vous pas pour l'invisible
ne restez pas plus
peu de parc que je traverse

 



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