The poet who was born with me
has poured
the sands of moonlight
in my heart
flung at my eyes
the choicest pains of life.
Clenching my soul
between his teeth
he has scraped the burning wounds
of my breath
and burnt my shoulders, always
saying 'Pain brings realization.'
Now panicked
by his own sorrow
says to me: 'Come
let's commit suicide....'
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