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suicide poetry

pensées par ma tête
les longs couloirs de marbre resounding
gaily par les champs nous avons dansé
une ombre grise mince sur le bord de la pensée
avec ses cheveux flaying d'une manière extravagante
la neige chuchote au sujet de moi
le maître des destins humains suis moi
nous cassons le verre dont le vin sacré
ne restez pas plus
ils ont jeté une pierre, vous ont jeté une pierre
la nuit est foncée, et les vents d'hiver

 



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