If you wish to end me,
Be distant.
Stay distant.
Dispose the tonnes of sands
to the flowing rivers, and
squeeze them between the dams.
I'll be suffocated, all my lungs.
If you wish to end me,
pose to shoot the flying birds.
I'll be bleeding
a frozen blood.
Fool me say that
you'll tear the sky apart.
I'll be torn, a broken heart
pulled down by the floor,
gazing the sky, wide up.
Then, lie me you would
dry the stars,
by the summer wind.
More than enough,
I would have felt
the move of
shiver last, and
the scent of
the breath last
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