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suicide poetry

in Ihrem Flug
dieses ist das Arsenal
irgendwo las ich eine merkwürdige, alte, rostige Geschichte
sie können von der Liebe in einem Häuschen sprechen
meine Mutter twines mich die Roses, die mit Tau naß sind
es gibt ein, das dieses i einmal so sehr liebte
sie kennt eine preiswerte Freigabe
in Ihren Armen war ruhige Freude
noch schaukelt ihr Grau Aufsatz über das Meer

 



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