They have come.
They invade the heart.
They smell of thorns,
Tears,
Solitude,
But you feed the fear,
And weeping,
Like two small birds,
Abandoned in a tree.
They have come,
To set afire the age of dreams,
To bid you adieu.
But you embrace yourself,
Like a desperate man embraces himself,
Like a man should only embrace his lover,
Because there is no one else.
You cry underneath your deception.
You open up the coffin of your desires,
And become richer than the night.
But there is too much remorse,
That the words commit suicide.



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