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As the droplets off the window on a rainy afternoon, my thoughts fall.
Learning to be alone in silence the beauty of our own existence.
absent from the environment, immersed in our own cocoon.
Today I am free, of presences, absences, physical company and affection. Today, now ... I'm a point that expands on an infinite canvas, and stained with the blood of an artist brushes imaginary. Miro
my hands are small abstractions that explode with a deafening sound that explode and become huge ... and now no one can reach to take them.
caress my feet, I see similar, identical ... But to what? I can not find out. I find incredibly identical to what? What? ... Yes, my footsteps. It also once I looked back and the lights blinded me from the past.
My body changes shape: I am a butterfly, is a flower, a cloud, an outbreak of light sneaks through the thick night ... shape changes and notices at a glance ... only someone will see the metamorphosis of the butterfly. Because when the sun sets, the moon is more selective and does not embellish them all with its charm.
But all this mess is for the dawn. Now I'm painting on my body, the breeze. The paint on the sea and I can feel my limbs are covered with goosebumps, and blush slowly.
hear the whispers of the waves, bring me names, and I remember ... And I whisper, the sea whispers to me, and together we formed a poem that harmoniously combines silence.
I lie with my mind on earth, and let my heart be nourished with the soil. I let my arms spread, escape from my hands. So I feel the heartbeat of the earth, and those below her comfortable rest. So I'm primitive, animal instinct to coordinate with my body as the only way to live. So sorry, no more. Nude body and soul, I have no penalties that I darken, or voices to shout destroying my peace.
I just find a pair of purple eyes, as Butterfly, and which managed to fly with my wings.

My Kittens Belly Is Saggy

This sadness that has no root, shadow or echo in the mountains, words are born. Stubborn, deaf, dumb ... loving feelings are superfluous suffering. Today I am sad, yes ... infinite sadness ... those which are not calculated because they seem to be endless ... Of those that start the vertebrae one by one, and use them to make a necklace or a xylophone. Sadness that bleeds, and bleeds slowly ... Sadness has no origin, reason ... perhaps created by the absence beginning to be felt when the leaves of offshore stained sidewalks. Or maybe created by being around people, laughter ... hugs ... and do not have time to find heartbreaking loneliness alone against a cliff. I do not know, just know I'm sad and at times (like now) I feel like sinking my face in her hands white and cold, and lie to mourn inconsolably, as if no time had passed and still be a girl. I also feel like running and hug my grandmother, and curl up in the folds of his Bluz ... and here a small tip root of the problem: it is not, and will not be more, neither she nor her perfume, or color your Bluz or large, soft hands. And now I feel even sadder.
And I mourn, I untie the knots I made in my throat, but I do not, because I know it is fleeting ... And that morning when you wake, you may recall with smiles the small state of depression, caused perhaps because a cricket did not sing.
Yes, well, that will be tomorrow. Now is now and I have to solve this bipolarity that cross my feelings. Could it be the uncertainty, the environment and the cowardice, the cause of this? Will the joys of home that have not bloomed this summer? Will the moon last night was naked and full? Will the soap opera that generates my imagination not think that I have no guts to cum, hold you and say I love you just for me?
Today I am sad and I can not calm this sinking sea of \u200b\u200bsmiles in the inexplicable.

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... "The poem that I say, do not deserve. Fear of being two way mirror, someone in my sleep, I eat and drink me '...

Pizarnik, "Tree of Diana"

It is impossible (at this stage of the game, life, and so into the night) to deny you've taken possession of much of me. I write without thinking and your face ... closing his eyes, blurring my vision, I see it drawn perfectly in the back of my eyes, over the ears, temple, forehead and above the scalp. Arguably, being open and honest in the habit of writing and because externalize me pleasure to have known that ... because despite knowing the outcome of those words, I find this story as fascinating as your smile. And they (the words) are piled up in my mouth wanting to come to light, and I feel an irresistible arcade and a desire vomiting my metaphors that go beyond tolerance and human endurance. I get out of bed to cure my disease (of poets and madmen ... of madmen poets and mine ... damn poet des-balanced dissemination!) And the tip about the role imagination and technological . What crime have you, the readers and fellow blessed poems, that the rainbow is brighter these days?, What fault is that today moon type nonsense, and who has lost (in fact) reasoning from I met him?. I think both answers are: None. But there is no choice: kill the love or die trying to be happy.

Bethlehem