I hate my life.
I hate the smell of burning ice
As if it were a spying mice
Bringing down my life
I hate how a word turns into a life-threatening statement that brings us down, like a dwarf begging me to kill him, cause he can't stand death.
The death of a beloved lice
That feeds on your soul
Like a baby coal
That can't suffice
Its own needs of murdering his soul by drinking a hot cup of melted ice.
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