Get in, get out of battles.
Forgive the calamities to which
we made ourselves in the image
and likeness of others, forgive us
the penalties, those feigned to mortify and
the ones we hide from the gaze of
that we will be, as if we had one at home
infamy, a sadistic aphasic demon awaiting us.
Lick the fire wound with the same
passion with which we let ourselves be kissed
palate in early youth.
Give us a compliment in front of the mirror:
look us in the face,
read our lips, it looks great on you
the defeat. you are so cute with
those scars. Tell me.
The urgency of light
it looks beautiful
I tell myself and hug myself in the first person:
I am not a battlefield
I am war and victory.