These are not Poems, they are only mirrors where beings look at each other without rest. They have become skin on metaphor, time on absence. And I go back to coffee, the cigarette and these papers that are my bones...!
This is my first poem on this community.
••|Sick| ••
"Maybe
When death comes
My spirit will feel joy
Because today
At this very moment
Where it rains
My soul is so bad
So bad
That I feel sad for my soul."
Well it is my first time translating one of my poems, I hope someone understands it and connects with those emotions that I try to capture without decorating with so many words and letters. Thanks!
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~Hell.