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11 juni, 2008

he is alone
on a deserted path, southward he travels
a dry, thin cough from the bitter, black lungs in his chest
he is freezing

he is cold
in the gray snow, fairies drawing circles
a red, thick stream from the lonely, broken heart in his chest
he is chanting

he is unknown
by the frozen river, gods answer his prayers
a wet, salty drop from the gray, dry eyes falls to the ground
he is screaming

he is old
by a carved statue, flowers sharp as daggers
a blue, sweet word from the harsh, grim lips falls to the ground
he is fallen

One Comment leave one →
  1. 15 juni, 2008 21:15

    *visslar imponerat*

    Jag bara ÄLSKAR första och sista raden i varje vers. Sjukt snyggt grabben!


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