Mediu
Raskolnikov without the murder excuse
The room across the body/ spreads a dire hallucination
The genius imagines the ordinary cross/ that lies upon the/ people he tormented in actions –/ just theories for a good cause
He sleeps on a couch using old clothes/ Law isn’t blind but fake in depression
Reminiscences of the body sank on the floor/ in blood with no pale – just face of a guy/ sadistically emerged in laughs that/ are the jury for a mind painted with guilt,/ hidden in pursue
Schismatic throws his pain in the consciousness/ of a fainting character, discovered in apathy…
Without the excuse for the slaughter/ that protects the second body, sent on the same floor
Both reached the mind-prison …
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