Waiting, waiting.
For the nervous system to shut down,
To collapse.
Service in delay.
Please hold the line.
"911 what's your emergency?"
A man, well dressed, funny weird socks.
Not the average bloke.
Tall, intimidating.
I never would have guessed.
He tossed a buck and she led down
on her knees.
Out of breath,
gravity put her in his hands.
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A Journey Past Our Solar System: Poetry of a Borderline
PoesíaA Journey Past Our Solar System is mostly confessional poetry of my life in the few last years, structures of a dysfunctional family, in the middle of dealing with mental illness. A tragedy in the making of my brain turning into coal, ready to burn...
