I have a trunk where I keep sunsets, fleeting movements of time.
Open it in the dark, the wind tickling your senses and the eternal sorrow of your heart.
Look inside it, notes, collected every piece of cloud, all the sighs of my loneliness.
Walk the gradient colors, widen your chest to breath, smell the freshness of the tree, contemplates the fickleness of life, savor the moment, not be repeated.
I have a mirror that projects the shadows of night, striving to speak with the space, the infinite lurks. Search
your eye sight without evil in every being
no mouth laughs of the weak, cowardly neighbor's cat, of indolence of will.
I have a pen without ink, eager to defy reality by outlining tragedies of sarcasm.
Cry without tears of grief, drained, cry with groans.
was dried in the cold of the mind
I have a cat that is not mine, but the neighbor.
runs away every night, walking wandering in the walls. Look
jubilant at the sky, bats, clouds.
Cross my roof and no longer responds to my call.
I have a fragile mind
I have tired eyes, convicted of lost sleep that does not appear
I have few words, imbued with ideas of reason.
wind I have a lover, friend, and he has me.
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