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Nov 09, 2024
Turnover my secret past I have to dig up my future in the hour of crumbling walls and dark clouds.
Pale moon becomes a beacon in another version of solitude where nobody speaks of sores and premature death.
I stay away from twinkling stars, from the blossoms of traveling night and winds which are moving towards the sky.
Sullied words will go for a conspiracy making a ghost of my garden where seeds are sprouting.
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