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sad poetry

quando o véu dos olhos for levantado
dentro de minha mão eu prendo
com os olhos meek, marrons
o que era ele os motores ditos
behold mim, em meus chiffon, gauze e ouropel
eu sou uma mulher
simplicity
não seja falso
eighty anos passaram, e mais
um com você
disse
se o slayer vermelho pensar slays
o que nós fará agora
eu amo as configurações melodious velhas

 



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