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suicide poetry

tręs anos há hoje
tempestade
meu filho está inoperante e eu sou cortina indo
eighty anos passaram, e mais
quando o véu dos olhos for levantado
o pitiful pequeno, desgastado, caras rir
completamente dos rasgos
seja paciente, vida, quando o amor está na porta
olhar além
as máscaras da noite estavam caindo rapidamente

 



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