𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚓𝚎𝚜.
𝙰𝚌𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚜 𝚊 𝚕𝚊 𝚎𝚡𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚞𝚍 𝚢 𝚕𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚌𝚒𝚘́𝚗.
𝙲𝚊𝚕𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚜𝚒 𝚗𝚘 𝚜𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚜 𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚜.
𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚜𝚒 𝚝𝚞𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚎𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕 𝚍𝚎 𝚊𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚜𝚘𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚘.
𝙴𝚕 𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚘 𝚊𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚣𝚊, 𝚜𝚒,
𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚜𝚘𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚜𝚞 𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚣.
𝙷𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚛𝚞𝚙𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚐𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚝𝚘𝚜 𝚢 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚜 𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚜.
𝙷𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚢 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚍𝚘 𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚜𝚒 𝚏𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚜𝚞 𝚍𝚞𝚎𝚗̃𝚘.
𝙽𝚘𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚊𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚒𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚊𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚢 𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚍𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚘.
𝚈 𝚊𝚞𝚗 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚘—𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚛— 𝚎𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕 𝚍𝚎 𝚊𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚎𝚜 𝚗𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚘, 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚙𝚊 𝚌𝚞𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚣𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚊𝚕 𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚗𝚒 𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚘 𝚗𝚒 𝚎𝚕 𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚕𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚟𝚘𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚗 𝚓𝚊𝚖𝚊́𝚜.
ESTÁS LEYENDO
(DES)VISTEME EL ALMA
PoetrySon solo palabras... Son solo lineas... Son solo pensamientos... ...que a veces tienen un poco de poesia.
