- Write your own story
- Write your own story
The poet is a pretender.
He pretends so completely
That he even pretends
The pain he really feels.
And those who read his writings,
Sense well in the pain they read,
Not his two but only
The one they lack.
And so on its tracks it goes,
Rotating to direct reason,
This wind-up train
We call the heart.
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não há dia que passe sem ler o "Desassossego".
Bom fds!
nha nha nha nha nha
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