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suicide poetry

die Berge sind sie leise Völker
Dame, Ihr Herz hat an Staub gewendet
weich weinend
wenn, voll von der warmen und eifrigen Liebe
Kerzen, die seitlich in den Tomatedosen stürzen
da ich der Richtung des Todes geglaubt habe
die Dichter sagen
ich weiß nicht wo
für war mich ein gaunt, ernstes Ratsmitglied
steigender Mond hat die Sterne versteckt
Welt, die unter meiner Hand ändert
es gibt Gewinne für alle unsere Verluste
wenn ihr Haar wild flaying

 



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