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Carrying a bunch of hurts,
I walk upon my morbid legs,
In this desolate road,
As lonely as the feeling of gradual decay, 
The grotesque sky with its sullen face, 
Like an overslept child,
Laughs at me with the contempt,

I say “someday, you will cry at my silence”,
Another moment, 
The road full of the fragments 
Of my legs, and scattered bones, 
And my obituaries 
Reaching homes after homes,
Doors after doors,
Desolate like the night of a widow, 
There I read my obituaries 
To my beloved, 
Beneath the mewling sky, 
She walks away upon her young legs,
Almost jovial, 
Insouciance; Decay;