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suicide poem

no hay presa yo de pensamientos pobres
cuando volví en la puesta del sol
puesto que, si usted hizo una pausa mi lado hoy
cómo como las estrellas es este el blanco, las caras sin nombre
los arcos del puente rojo
velas que derriban de lado en latas del tomate
se hace el día
ella era una belleza en los días
la agonía del tener demasiada energía
al lado de un campo afectado
llevo a cabo su corazón

 



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