My first life was one of screams and great outrages.
The second had a taste of encounter,
always in accessible doors of taste.
Then a simple life with hugs
and clever hearts.
From time to time a life of traps
(((that one I always knew was transitory
even though I didn’t know what the permanent one would be))).
Until the war came, the best life,
that moment when breathing with the sight
is the combat of the fable
and you defend yourself among the night owls
and you discover that your enemies are with you
and you fight harder for your life pregnant with dreams
until a life of suspension arrives
that gives way to a figure laden with scars
and who strangely seems happy.
The next one is unknown but today I live remembering
and analyzing each silence.
YOU ARE READING
When I close my door
PoetryI dedicate this work to all the friends who are left in the heart. To all those who love me. In When I close my door, a social interest and a renunciation for the sake of communication is explicit, the subject destroys his exterior, recomposes himse...
