How curious.
I forgot where I was.
One forgets to turn with or against.
Behind raw iron icy bars,
I want to say all of this is true.
How long I yearned,
For the Lord of Death with icy breath.
Loitered beneath the gas lamps’ flare,
Like little painted figures on a screen
And still, to strive anew, we turn away.
I feel faint kisses creeping on my lips,
He, with his gentle hand,
His eyes were clear as crystals.
Together, away, we step
And to dreamworld pine away.
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