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suicide poetry

robuste, humble-abeille de somnoler
je vous attends
j'ai hérité le désert parce que mon âme est assoiffée
son gris bascule toujours la tour au-dessus de la mer
ne soyez pas fâché avec moi
affligez-vous pas pour l'invisible
il y a un pays complètement de vin
la nuit était noire et triste

 



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