I look for in
deep
next to my madness with the hope of finding
what I lost when my sense
was unchanged, but can not find more
that provided volumes of
to hoot their own grief back of his custom
useless. All this has more
sense open feeling
sickle shame that every day
feel to be alive, but I smile to my ghost
transmitting regret not being
live like me, but finished as I am.
The cuneiform spot the path I wanted
plant to the tired feet
bear the full weight of my misery was as simple
I could compose. I kept refilling
when the soil absorbed
promptly resolved their temperance and left me without prism
to behold. Is angry not being able to
terminate this one starts, and say
truth, in those terms moans my life,
becoming a stain that never fills
but never ends, with the agony
my faithful companion in the following shifts
to the growing points of silence poisoned
ear gives me rotten in my state.
Antonio Jiménez
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