You go. You go...You get out of hand even though I adore you.I do not know if I feel sorry for you, for me, or both and they get frustrated in my past springs fingers. When my sick soul needed you most and the tendon of my life rots and dies, you are the one who sends in my last breath the macabre taste of my silence... I do not know how much value my feeling had.Nor will I know if it was worth it to have loved you.I only know that I feel in the same way what I gave you, and that is enough to make my pain rot more. I ask the microbes of hell, the piranhas that slip inside me, the martyr that transits the waters of my eyes, this moment that blinds, that kills, that absorbs, a minute with you before dying. I'm your love. Your own love, and you do not realize it.You do not know that when you die, you will not live quietly.You preñaras of stones every step of your life like slow death to your heart without form. Of you, the other part I am and you have not seen it.The complement that has made you sigh and curse.And if I die; part of you will die with me. I was your land, your root and seed.The faithful counsel that took your hands to the fruit garden.The seagull that gave you the air and taught you to fly.The worm that showed you the fetidness of the earth.The seaweed that put marine secrets in your belly.The song of the cock that woke up your dark dreams.Freedom before the chain that suffocated you. The gift of warmth to your cold ... ice floes. But I was also the ice that sheltered your back and freed you forever from your eternal fever.Today; I am goodbye and I have no other... I ask the microbes of hell.To the piranhas that slide in my insides.To the martyr that transits the waters of my eyes.To this moment that blinds, that kills, that absorbs, a minute with you before dying...
