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Hanged on the window’s curtains
The day was hardly breathing Her body was lying there long Like a symptom to death Bored stars Like prisoners captured in the cage Of some unhappy constellations They were doing reverences to the moon Blinking I Was wasting my sights Broken Savage growing up From my purple palms My wings seemed to be irises Un-rooted prematurely And raped On the ruins the sunset Banished seraphs Hey you You, the soul maker You dreamed of me being bird Wounded You crawled me under The sky’s eyelids Bait for the flying
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