That brown coat,
a warm and soft
animal around
A lifeless body.

The life of someone
a distorted mind
tries hard to embody.

I shall not forget
what it was like
to believe;
A time when existence
was an open sky,
at dusk...
before ...


A long time
before reality
turned into a dusty book,
its sole horizon trapped under a cover
with the acrid smell
of yellow pages,
like sheets of a bed
that border the betrayed.

The cashmere touch
of chocolate colored
inert fibers
could warm up a soul
more than those empty eyes
whose lies provoke sharp rage.

Qualm lurks somewhere on a shelf
when my coherence cannot stop
the inconsistent madness
of a sadly sick mind.

Closing the books,
running between mahogany tables,
I abandon the writings
and cherished belongings
in the library of my life.

Intelligence cannot answer
the demands of insanity
and closing the heavy doors
of my library -
knowing that abandoning it to the enemy
will make them gain nothing -
I flee, bare but rich
with unwritten books
they will never own.