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gothic poetry

el olor del se levantó tan falso, las espinas tan verdades
he echado el mundo
la hija, arte del thou viene morir
tristemente hablando
el solo puño apretado levantado y alista
soy fevered
burly, humilde-abeja el dormitar
para venir tan pronto a esto imaginaba obscuridad
vi que usted hunched y temblando en las piedras

 



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