Black crismo and red
Never does anyone come to read this for pleasure.
Because the phrases written here,
Are more than just that.
There is an soulless war between each word,
An irreconcilable void between each space,
That aims to deal with an immeasurable fury
Of the fire of life
And a mind so simple that it cannot sleep.
This is a gaze into the depths of the pages,
At the corner between leaves.
They detach amidst a tied muteness
At the edge of a life cutting itself in cold,
But reconciled in warmth with a testimony.
It goes between the teeth, squeezing the pain,
As if it were to end.
Thinking it would end at some point.
It's not a world I can take pleasure in,
But I have pretended it to be mine anyway.
And it's written with the same blood that takes from me.
Imprinted on my skin and yours
That has wished to cleanse itself,
But never stains.
This is unequivocal humanity,
The one that shines in the dawn,
After a long night of absolute solitude,
That no longer gives me certainty of the difference between light and darkness,
Between your eyes and mine,
So close that your breath becomes mine,
So close that you hear what I think.
Being in the world,
Has been an endless you and me
Yet I've been wavering in my mind tonight.
Facing you, the truth is not there.
There is no truth in war.
Soulless is the one who finds a truth
In the price of humanity.
