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Peter Bjärgö
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The Architecture of Melancholy
Everyday I experience the death of the Sun.
And the ground that I stand upon, caves in.
Everything I see turns to stone.
And the beating of my heart just stops.
I close my eyes and fall down to the ground,
and await for all to shut down,
so the pain will fade.
I close my eyes and wait for the numbness to set in,
and I embrace the stillness of eternal sleep.
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