When I pass, lights go out.
I walk at night without any doubt.
I’m seeing nothing,
but the call of the stars in the sky telling Something.
In front of me a river of snakes.
Looking straight ahead,
but also being afraid.
How does my conscious mind go by off from what used to be a survivor?
ESTÁS LEYENDO
Lirios De Naranjo Marchitos
PoetryUna poesía más cruda, más fría y oscura, más realista, como el lado oculto de la luna
