I give up my kingdom of butter and sour bread
for the dream of being another man.
I don't want to keep the tears under a mask,
living tied from a foot while I tried to fly.
The beams of paradise fall on my head.
My words are withered flowers
between the legs of the imaginary woman.
I walk to a light
in the ruined labyrinth of my damp delirium's
who palpite and it turning off on my tablet.
Tuesday, September 15, 2020
Topic(s) of this poem: life,life and death