Wrathful
dusk, blasé basalt
you’re
snoring on the iron bed
while I
was looking how the street
light
from a pole is reflected
in the
chrome faucets of the sink.
I got
up, I walked on the corridor
to the
bathroom with iron radiators
with
iron bathtub, with spiders
full of
gall in the corners. All is
made of
iron and of gall. I sat
on the
toilet bowl in the dark.
I
decided ‒ I leave you so I disappear,
without
ever coming back. Go to your
mom’s
cunt and snore!
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