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If the sun's rays are knocking at the window is just the heat of the glass to stroke your fingers and if a drop of rain knocks on the window are only vibrations to make me listen to her noise under your fingers. Its path can only imagine. Dragged, frayed. And his size is a fragment. I am no longer the walls of this room, nor the walls of this house. The borders are closed doors without handles. The locks are sewn together in my eyelids and my lips. Sew this window of a room without light. The streets are poisoned veins cuts. And the wounds are on the lips, skin, who do not speak of pain, but I read what they are, dressing and undressing before fucking soul. And those wings are too heavy. And these arms are too open for you.
) A (


"... like a phoenix ignition, like a crematorium, like a swelling volition, from the barrel of a gun, from the ashes and the embers, like a rocket I'll ascend, like a cry gone up for a fallen friend ... "

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Sitting. With arms crossed and feet still. eyelids that embracing lean on each other's eyes. The light that passes through the red skin coloring of a small flame behind a corner.'s mouth closed in a word that has no flavor. It 's a river that carries with it the rocks, sand and plastic bags. I feel it slipping on me. Slowly. The breaking of the bones. Dragging like a comet that just wants to go out. Seeding a stardust in a tear. And on the palms lines intertwine and mingle. It 's just a drop. But there's all my blood. I've never been able to delete anything. Cancel myself. Take care of you.
) A (

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There are things that I never told anyone. By the time the colors are now memories, tastes and smells; Hidden deep beneath my sternum, there are facts that I have not told. Sounds and images that pass before my eyes when I'm sleeping or waiting for someone sitting on something somewhere. Emerge from the base of the neck and decided to link to my frontal lobe and running to my forehead touching my optic nerves. They are sensations, electric shock through the skin, is the pain that I never did the word; someone who lived with me, I was unknown or forgotten.
are lives, explosions of molecules that when I die I will never existed and will not exist anymore. They had a sense for a brief moment: the sight, hearing or touch, but without my blood circulating, like all things, will prove unnecessary. When I have my eyes wide open, as I live my last moments in terror that is all there, everything runs out there, this will escape from my body. As parasites leave the body through the pores, eyes and nose, will open pockets full of flies and I'll be gradually more and more transparent. I put out with me too, and many other lights that belong to others.

"Then sit down beside me on the bed and raccontamele all, will listen for days that it will take."

I heard you say those words and then my ribs tore the flesh from the breastbone, opening like the mouth and have eaten at another time that I will not say never. I can not tell you that I do not understand, and I do not understand. Even now I have his head on the pillow, breathing plan that closing and opening his eyes, you can not see that part of me. Can not you see my skeleton, what starts away from you, that you will not see for years and years for which you seek. Can not see the poison that is mixed inside me and you drink, you can not see that figure, while shaking the sheets for the pain of the fever, you will be watching on the edge of a door. And this idea that scares us all the time, has now come back into the darkness of the flesh that protects my heart rate, rhythm in the heat of my chest to hide this year history. Now go to sleep while the black inside me grows.

take a deep breath and open my eyes. I look at the bed around us and the mosquito net that covers us is luminescent blue. The light filtering through the window, despite the tent, bounce flash in a square of nylon and the other, like a giant network for dreams, will protect us again tonight. My clothes are on the ground while your bent, you've propped on the chair beside his desk. On the bedside table book you're reading the mobile phone and set the alarm too soon. The book is one you just bought, what you gave me two weeks ago and I always forget this. It is late at night but is already very dark, the generator is off for hours now and so I feel in the silence of the house a radio remote that talks about African wars.
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