Poem: 25

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Song of Santa Muerte

The future doesnt exist for me.
The past is nothing but a wishing well.
It now is my path to roam and wander
For I have no more stories to tell

I see it in the lattices
All criss-crossing my palm,
Their raised skin hedges
Now have a weird sort of charm

Dìa de Muertos is music to my ears...
Dìa de Muertos is my day of farewell.
Until then smile beside me and laugh alongside me;
I already promised my Daemons a Hell

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