De VrijMiBo Voor Het Weekend
Her body was flowing and close-woven—
A slippery, whispering curtain which could not stop
Streams of dim gleams behind it.
One day with a long knife I cut a rent in the curtain:
I saw a soul nailed to a cross—
Slender, perfect-lipped, trying to laugh at its agony,
Counting its spattering blood-drops amusedly.
And somehow I could not find the sight dreadful.
Prettig weekend. En be nice.
Reaguursels
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