Strangers

The heaven has become a hell where the judge angels, being more prejudiced measuring every action with a vernier caliper, regardless of past actions, no matter who goes and who comes, smiles and tears, showing other faces, faces that seem to be the ghost of the past, the future images of monsters and demons of the mind, wandering the same streets, all in a sui generis set an unorthodox group, aware of my fucking sleep and slumber is still on me, try not to kill I try not Destroy, just trying to be a human among gods, I plunged into chaos and fear thoughts, I find a site to where belong, a site at which to call home, now abut me among people who call themselves my friends, people who noo appear to be less than I can say nothing about them I have months to meet them.

My stigmata are on me as heavy slabs, such as crosses to bear the martyrs in Seville or pledges penitents carry in churches in my country, as if he feared the justice of God they call love. My past I will absorb, but Tampa forget it, the blood does not wash my hands still, my demons are on my shoulders, sometimes the kindness I ever had seems to have disappeared and replaced by sarcasm and irony. damn memories that make me be me and kill me one time, errors and successes that will remain mine not blame anyone for them, as mine eyes are losing the light, as the smile fades and hope hanging on a thread.

Believing that I'm an idiot, I will try to love again because I am a fool, go ahead because it is what is done.

A smile to die even the clouds bring not more than sadness and desolation.

That blood of the gods fall on death showed that even they are not immortal