I have the spirit
At the tip
Almost jumping from inside
Of my body,
Just to the border
Of throwing myself
In sighs.
It is expected an ocean,
Geometric marabunta
Of sadness,
Several daggers
They cross
My arteries.
And although it can seem
Affected
I cannot avoid
To be at the border
Of this fiord,
I am a diver
That jumps backward
Tempted by ten thousand
Demons,
From the pinnacle
Of the temple
Until this sea
Of tears.
You slip the sharp
Word
For my Adam’s apple.
Despite the fact that me
With that sensation
Of having lost
My nest.
How many more moons
You must submerge
In the deep night
Of my misfortune?
I hope you stop
Because this moon
Of December
I want to share it
With you and for you.
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