quatre

Since childhood I’ve been deaf,

since adulthood I’ve been silent.



The way I speak,

I loose dignity;

people start to give me space,

I cry.

Come a bit closer and you'll see another me;

facing the mirror,

holding a knife facing towards my reflection.

The shadows quicken my excitement,

giving me an agitating gesture

and trying to grasp on my own reality.



Once you look back you won't see any further,

makes you think that the crowded slut is gone.



Nostalgia of this wicked saint,

giving you the malice of lust--yet you remain.

Stays at the other side,

but you always look back

and sometimes makes you wonder why did you leave.

The death of extinction and the prosper of the distinct

erasure of existence, heaven or hell?