Confessional

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A house never speaks
    As it is against its nature
Why do I still hear whisperings, then?
    At least, with the trees, it's cold
At home, they ignite something that has long been forgotten
    How am I meant to remember?
A fire inside me
    Only means smokes
Helplessly escapes my gasping breathe
     Smoke kills
It killed the home
     

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