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writing poetry

eu amo minha vida, mas não demasiado bem
sono doce em suas sepulturas humble
porque o faça sempre carrinho que tirita lá
calma como que segundo verão
a luz retirada
assim perdido
gloom
o céu
perguntam-me onde eu estive
agora que eu lhe esfriei
a senhora, seu coração girou para a poeira
em seu vôo
mas eu não posso lê-lo agora

 



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