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■ Pașadine în vers alb (73)
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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2008-01-01 | [Acest text ar trebui citit în english] |
I'm looking at my self inside the glass
talking to my own reflection while naked and mad as much as tormented by my own fears throughout my faulty navigations. My hands and fingers they bleed and ache for I have punished my own existence again. Through my own constellation of elementals I'm standing at a bouyant piece of my dried brain turning into dusts and sands little by little now my self is asleep while descending towards these pit of gloomy spaces. Now my face is handsome the perfect symmetry of my creations but still I crash my self into ashes of silver coal. Now it's christmas and chilly I'm staring outside the window of my room to witness the silky horizons of aurora the so called undefined metropolitan I wiped my alluring face for I have to do so. I have the latino blood inside but I can't take away the oriental seasonings inside this racist's decaying body.
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