4 am

I could've been the solace that cures and transforms
alcohol into holy water
but no.
as a doll I sang what you played to me
your words: lies dressed in tinfoil
I was ash, I slept with a fire on the back of my head
secretly, pin sized guns
aim at my heart.

I walk on the streets swinging as always
when it rains I lay on trees awaiting to become bark
when the wind blows I'm Ana and I bring you food
(here, this small heart, scared as a poult, eat it)
wall me a nice looking grave as garden, tell me
that now
this is how is born out of me the most beautiful poem
that you'll whisper it to your women and they will cry.

I took myself in my arms, I was sunk
turning all the lights down I prayed for big pieces of coating to fell from the sky
that wild horses run through my hair
so I won't know anything
about the nothingness you are
the nothingness I was
and about this love as drifting sand in which I bustle
although I know that this
only hurries the burial.

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