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Ego sum mors.

¿Es tan diferente? 
De una prisión sin barrotes
la vida en cursiva
sin distracción posible ante el azote
del deber, del seguir.

Sentencia sin término 
y luz sin incendio
este fuego quema, 
invisible y sin llamas
efímero y enfermo.

No me quisiste al principio,
yo tampoco al final
pero el tiempo nos maldijo
y no fuimos quien de olvidar
el susurro mortal
de tu piel contra mi sed. 

La redención del inocente
que patada tras patada,
escondido llora
sin prisa, sin demora.

Nunca escapará tu voz de este estruendo
la mía te sigue
sin mirar atrás
hacia la elegía de nuestro duelo.

No me quisiste al principio,
yo tampoco al final
pero el tiempo nos maldijo
y no fuimos quien de olvidar
el susurro mortal
de tu piel contra mi sed. 


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