Untitled (Sin título)

I can´t feel my head because
My heart is killing me.
My path is marked by broken marble
In a forest of sledgehammers.
My feet are of ice, but the ground
Under me flows like hot lava.
The colors of the morning sky
Melt past me in a million whispers
Of auto-consejos.
And my eyes fly to the sun, determined
To burn their wings.
Where do I look for my refelction?
In the folds of a rose or scattered quartz in the sand?
Wherever my floating ship may land,
Let it find cards with holding hands...
...and a bleeding heart dripping with wax
From an eternally disposable candle.

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