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May 2021
Pacing through the desolate forest
with the recalling voice of the chorist
rain touches my soul
as I ramble in my inner black hole

The wind washes my face
asΒ Β sorrow and sadness chase
I leave myself to the propelling wind
to leave everything behind

Thinking about all that happened when the wind blows my hair
how could life dare
separate us
and fill my heart with pus?
Written by
zozek
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