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Glaring View

Headache for breakfast,
a psychosomatic flu.
Haunting ghosts of the past,
a glaring view of you.

Now, if I could pick,
I wouldn't have gone there,
that view made me so sick,
I can't make a repair.

It was pain enough,
it's got me deep blue.
Will we need to cut off?
In whose arms were you?


(Júlio B.)