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epic poetry

ainda treze anos
não do mundo largo do todo
behold mim, em meus chiffon, gauze e ouropel
eu não pray para a paz
eu fui acima e trago as ruas
com seu cabelo que flaying descontroladamente
porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
ao longo dos bancos
algum queixou-se ao mestre
a escuridão rola para cima

 



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