A  los sueños rotos, a  los puzzles.

in poetry •  5 years ago 

Si se lo das a todos los que lo pidan.
Ver hierve sangre en las venas.
Mi corazón pierde un latido.
¡Pero terribles cicatrices no me pintan la cara!
No volveré a ti otra vez
Incluso en un arnés gris opaco.
Mientras él estaba en un frenesí fangoso.
En el barrio la llaman vieja doncella.

poetry busy news spanish life
5 years ago by

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      ·  5 years ago 

    No you didn't. Why are you pretending that you can dream?

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