Each of us has our own sins.
Everyone has their own way to the lowlands of hell.
My way is cynicism, lack of faith and poems,
And a weakness for feminine traits, that

My mind was disturbed and spilled by everyone
Thick nougat on the walls of perception,
And truths melted limestone,
And closed naked crucifix.

In all movements, in the game
Thick hair in the lights of the night inflorescences,
And chest in some sinful amber
Tens of years, centuries, millennia ...

Oh, there, on the eternal bottom of the treacherous eyes
The prison of the soul belonging to God
But a couple of gestures and phrases
The prisoner is pushed to the prison.

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