My favourite poem
What's in your hands and blood?
To kill simple faith?
The more you wash your hands, you will not remove this stain.
You could kill me really.
In the dark night the enticement of mating,
The sharp knife of unbelief on the back
I still had peace on my chest.
But I can not die,
Why not, you killed my faith.
I can not sleep
Why not, you killed my dream.
I can not hide my face in the shade of a lie,
Why not, you hid something true.
Is not that a crime?
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