Kseniia Koliadina

November 13, 1985 - Moscow
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Just another one

Sweet wind, broken glass, empty halls, and at last
Real pain cuts my soul with the puzzles of trust.
Your lies, nothing new, are created by lust.
You are, after all, just like them, the outcast.

And now, we are broken by us; that was fast.
But just as expected, like those before us
We cast to the void of irrelevant past,
Like those before us, before us…
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