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Today it is their turn
Tomorrow you can burn
One remain in their skin
Cries are lost in the din
Den trøje
Han stjal den fra mig
For at holde sig varm
På de kolde sommeraftner.
Han gav den en unik duft
Og på det tidspunkt duftede den af tryghed, som var jeg hjemme, som glæde, som ham.
Men nu er det vinter.
Jeg tog trøjen på i morges.
Og nu får den samme duft mig til at føle mig glemt
og at den trøje
har brug for en tur i vaskemaskinen
Zero Nine May 2017
Join hands
at the campfire

Wish into
the night
for transfer
from states

in love.


i know i know i know

we know we know we know

heavens won't save us

I wager
weapons etch distant
moons with craters.
swarming in to burrow
beneath the skin*
this a plague of much

the locust band
had moved in
with a harmfulness
in its whirling spin

they'd not been detected
by the radar's pin
so unsuspecting were
those who dwelt within

as they stayed
we'd hear but their din
that was full on
regarding the clamorous tin

of the epidemic
which swarmed in
there'd be no possibility  
*for the kin to gain a win
Echoes first quiet, a pitch that hounds can barely hear.

Gently coaxing her. "Come now, no one has to know, just give in dear."

Blues and reds spinning. Sirens scream.

 So much better and yet so much worse.

Trying to beg. But no, they're tuned out.

I don't know any other route,
I still can't tell, no voice to shout.

They're all deaf! Please God, open just one ear.

— The End —