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suicide poetry

facce belle e tragical
amo non troppo bene la mia vita, ma
era una bellezza nei giorni
dal ponticello rude
musing, fra il tramonto e l'oscuritŕ
quando il vento funziona contro di noi nell'oscuritŕ
scattando in su, cadendo
limps con la fermata del passo doloroso
addolorisi non per l'invisibile
dalla finestra un mare degli alberi verdi
siete chiari
uomo freddo severo

 



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