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sad death poem

il n'y a aucune bande, toutefois observé et tendu
je suis une femme
le poing serré simple soulevé et préparent
je dois dire bonne nuit
les étoiles sont tombées du ciel
fleurs des bébés
ceux sur le supérieur indiquent qu'elles vous connaissent, la terre -- elles sont des menteurs
mi plaisirs et palais bien que nous puissions errer
orage
le jour est fait

 



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