Frida Kahlo

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September 5, 2008

Parrot with flames of hair wings end in hands
His hands are clean in the clear moonlight of the islands

I am not a demon he declares with bloody teeth
Trees behind bleed sap and green smells like death

There were many thousands trolling the graves
Only he survived the night the earth heaved

Whoever can look at him directly will turn
Into me but i will have grown thorns

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qarrtsiluni