Here are the roses from my burnt wings
they should grow on you so much
like seven full moons flowing down the red hills of silent desires
Could you drink it?
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Vestigia Amoris: sinais do corpo ausente
Todas as cidades têm as praças cheias de Vazio as ruas mais antigas são as mais densas de fogo que arde sem se ver ondas de fogo: sinais de...
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Maybe birds dream within my Desiring Freedom and cross everything the closures of gardens, hearts, and manuscripts
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