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suicide poem

eu não posso sempre sentir seu greatness
eu gosto d
sob uma árvore espalhando da castanha
paredes e enorme elevados
do sol nem das estrelas
bucks pretos gordos em um quarto do vinho-tambor
velas que toppling lateralmente em umas latas do tomate
sono doce em suas sepulturas humble
para estes braços brancos sobre minha garganta

 



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