With the delicacy of a dagger I felt your lack of love stabbed on my back your beautiful face smiling and looking at my pain wishing that it would never end Your unknown inside that bottle of scotch Translucent crosses the glass separating the living room that light tries to scape to the outside that light tries to trap all your fears Your eyes look desperate and scared They have already foreseen the end Separation seeks for disappointment Disappointment seeks to impress the obvious She likes shaking the hand of the hypocrites She wishes to cynically reverse the irreversible Intense love is an unfortunate thing; it never last Bleeding I sit down and write my last poem Your slippery hands can't hold my broken heart Slowly you give me the glue to mend (in a sincere attempt to put all the pieces together in time) Indefinite is the time's charm We insist in synchronize that old felling into my shattered heart Slowly it starts pulsing in your hands without luck It
I keep records and memories. in the dark I write. I enjoy solitude. airtight ; hermetic, cryptic and esoteric. trying to unveil secrets. inward we go. d ifferent lives. s idewalks. joy. leaping puddles in the dark. dreams and fantasies. the past and collective memories. archetypes of woman- wolves and deep waters of fertile art shines above my crown. shrines of the psyche. keep asking myself the same questions.no matter the route I make the same mistakes. Amor Fati? It was the love I was creating inside a MC. Escher's painting. climbing and descending paradigms. where are the flight of stairs? I want to fly. looking for love in objects and souls. matter. It doesn't matter. I was refuting solitude because I never had the gift of self reflection. it hurts; it will. always. there are no escape goats. I pass by the bar, by the memory, by the park, by the painting, bye, bye. it went away like a kite in a storm. tying treads. connecting imaginary red strings. superstitions a
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