I do not want much of a present, anyway, this year.
After all, I am alive only by accident.
I would have killed myself gladly that time any possible way.
Now there are these veils, shimmering like curtains,
The diaphanous satins of a January window
White as babies’ bedding and glittering with dead breath. O ivory!
— Oct 14, 2025 04:43AM
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