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broken heart poem

die Schwärzung stiehlt die Formen aller Königinnen
schreckliche Wahrheiten diese sind
diese alte silberne Schüssel von meinen
ruhig mit reverance, im Awe
ich loathed Sie
weich als das Bett in der Masse
ich liebe meine Stunde des Winds und des Lichtes

 



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