//mypoeticside.com/

Emil Cerda

I don\'t know what name to put this poem

“My heart is already accustomed to processing violet blood with poisons that are more deadly; Make you live again after a long sleep.  

“It\'s hard for me to cry, my demons advise me to follow... the letters tell me to stop, but my body says: And the Brain is treacherous for you to lie when doing a not true in front of the Bible?  

“I don\'t know why GOD loves me, I don\'t even apply anaphora. I don\'t even know the rules of a poem, I stop in this verse to go and have a glass of water.  

“Fuck the rhyme! Leave me alone with the metric! The quotation marks will die with me!!! I hope I don\'t go to hell!!  

“It hurts me to cry, I have cried too much; therefore, I smile not to cry.  

“I help without asking for anything in return, in return I ask for help; But I have no help. Only GOD is the Giver of life, when I sin: my days are subtracted.  

“I don\'t want rhymes; this comes out of my skull, without complex meanings so that they understand it.  

“I\'m not who you think, I think who I am. You think differently from me; I don\'t understand as you do.  

“I settled on the bed, and I keep typing. I don\'t have respiratory valves, nor the cough of despair comes to me: my tracheas are full of pleasure.  

“I\'m done, I\'m tired, but of myself”.