I will be the earth
what I wrote,
the one I pointed with my finger
without knowing where,
tangled by the hangover
of life
that enters through the hole
of the window
with the sun.
My sunken hands,
buried
they will look for the stones
that they threw at us
when we were
of glass
breaking us
like the glasses in the laundry room.
Maybe in years
be the stone
of the persecuted
broken
without explanation
on the floor
where I was land.
elespacioreal
With the sun
How do you rate this article?
5
espacioreal
A veces leo.
elespacioreal
Magician
Reward the author with $0.01 in crypto, and earn yourself as you read!
% to author / 80% to me.Rewards are FREE. Publish0x pays them, not you.
17 hours ago
3 minute read
20 hours ago
3 minute read
19 hours ago
4 minute read
Page not displaying correctly?
