segunda-feira, 18 de janeiro de 2016


I am finding it – fine tuning it
Through tunnels of rustiness.
Metal-scratching noises
Down my throat, down the road
Of hasty thoughts that insist
To inhabit me.

Running nose and tears
Washing my face,
Cascading on my cheeks,
Wetting my dried open lips
Always in search of air 
– forever breathless.

Despair might just kill me
If I get sick one more time.

Nicole Rodrigues

Nenhum comentário: