My own lips

Metamorpho

From the security, outside my rooms, my words, unpronounceable for my own lips. My renunciation of everything in those lands, the ink, drips on my skin, marking the lineage of an ungrateful, at least that is what the creative genius of some stories paints. I can not forget, because I do not want it, the times you were an angel in my own hell, a hell in which I subtly included you, because I needed to rule with a friendly soul in that condemnation. It was the first time that a winged being entered the territory of the nephilin, however, its existence could not be longevity in the darkness. When I left, for the first time I perceived that contrast, my eyes became unable to penetrate the darkness, the darkness and smell that emanate the souls with fear became simply impossible to bear. By my own methods, I sneaked away, escaping from the demons I once created, because from one moment to the next, the dislike of mutuality. The heat burned my fingers in search of light, sprouting to the surface, like plants that germinate, the rest of my body remained stuck, being swallowed by my own weight, which threatened to drag me back. When I came out of that pit, I noticed how my skin darkened under the hot sun, a gray tone, like that of the ashes of those cities that today lie in dust, traveling in the air breathed by those who now inhabit these lands. Everything in my path, acquired the same color, blackened the grass at my feet, like an expansive and lugubrious wave capable of absorbing life in each pigment. I succumbed, before guilt, to the hurtful feeling that dismantled the soul, because at that point, I felt it, the soul, what we call "ailment of mortality", I lay down on the floor, with pain, no longer coming from my cracked skin, but from the center of my chest, like a drum, sharp, continuous, extending through my body inch by inch, Pressure emanated from my eyes in liquid form, thick, wine-colored and ferrous taste. The sky turned dark, in it, hundreds of lights shone, lying on the floor, I watched and remembered the day when we fell from the heights breaking our wings, I had forgotten that pain, the same one that now felt in my chest. During the night, the roar of life invaded my ears, on the ground, in the air, the voice of the wind, repeating stories of distant lands, the echo of dead gods, in the water, with the singing of his life in it , all together, the whole universe sang unison to life, in the light of the stars, when they beat in their bodies. I woke up, when I opened my eyes, the main star did not burn, the light was bright, but not blinding, the sky so blue and clear, that among the clouds you could see other worlds, gigantic, with circular figures rotating between them. The ashes of my skin, detached with each step, like the old bark of a tree, at my feet grew green threads full of life that bloomed with light, at night a halo of purple light emanated from my skin, like a luminous mantle lit by the moon, he could still expiate in the darkness without being damaged, since he was no longer a being of dark lands, it was the idealism product of desire in the mind of a creative being, a vivid image of the yearnings of being . the light was bright, but not blinding, the sky so blue and clear, that among the clouds you could see other worlds, gigantic, with circular figures spinning between them. The ashes of my skin, detached with each step, like the old bark of a tree, at my feet grew green threads full of life that bloomed with light, at night a halo of purple light emanated from my skin, like a luminous mantle lit by the moon, he could still expiate in the darkness without being damaged, since he was no longer a being of dark lands, it was the idealism product of desire in the mind of a creative being, a vivid image of the yearnings of being . the light was bright, but not blinding, the sky so blue and clear, that among the clouds you could see other worlds, gigantic, with circular figures spinning between them. The ashes of my skin, detached with each step, like the old bark of a tree, at my feet grew green threads full of life that bloomed with light, at night a halo of purple light emanated from my skin, like a luminous mantle lit by the moon, he could still expiate in the darkness without being damaged, since he was no longer a being of dark lands, it was the idealism product of desire in the mind of a creative being, a vivid image of the yearnings of being .