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suicide poetry

caras bonitas, tragical
eu amo minha vida, mas não demasiado bem
era uma beleza nos dias
pela ponte rude
musing, entre o por do sol e a obscuridade
quando o vento trabalhar de encontro a nós na obscuridade
tropeçando acima, caindo para baixo
limps com parar o ritmo doloroso
aflija-se não para o invisível
fora da janela um mar de árvores verdes
você está desobstruído
homem frio stern

 



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