PÓLVORA Y TRAICIÓN

He would lose it all I wouldn’t,  not a thing. She wanted to sleep within you just forget where she had been. Linger in the ashes of that lighter smoke the troubling thoughts let them burn with incandescent furor. I’m falling back in 717 rolling my way down to the throbbing of your spleen cranial calibrations, unexpected relocations. Let the stupor of tomorrow  be the rhythmic of our chaos. Run! Run! One, he would lose it all. I wouldn’t, not a thing. She wanted to sleep within you just forget where she had been. Linger in the ashes of that lighter smoke the troubling thoughts let them burn with incandescent furor. I’m falling back in 717 rolling my way down to the throbbing of your spleen cranial calibrations, unexpected relocations. Let the stupor of tomorrow  be the rhythmic of our chaos.

¿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. 

 Your happiness was loud like dozing off on mum's chest. The soft perfume of bread and talcum, just a vague connector between the murderous strike of reality and the longing of days which shall never come. Life used to be shiny, then  you chose the stabbing. Watching you grow cold, metal blue. My back, bleeding red against the many februarys you endured.  Hearing your ablazing shield, cold steel. My mother's last breath, your father's last bottle. The glory of this city has vanished, the sounds, the music, the colors. All gone. 

Try to survive the endless winter give shelter to yourself. Be here, be there, just stay.  Lovers lost  a million years away, incessantly drifting from the memories they made. Give it a try. They could, they wouldn't but even then, you.  Bite harder, tear apart those insides too coroded, too tangled, unworthy. Deliver me from this torture, you who art in heaven,  glory always follows you but whenever you get close this anger this rage these thoughts do just what they know.  Wound! Damage.  Is there rest for the wicked?