poema de quarentena 2
Perpetual chest weight, that seems to get comfortable after a while
masked by smoke mirrors that only make you cough more and more.
Simultaneously feeling heavy and weightless
with a set plan but inexplicably petrified for no apparent reason
¿What is there to be sad about?
A heightened artistic perception, at the expense of your sanity.
Why must all artists be sad.
Can you really count on your friends if you haven’t really had any in a while?
Do other species experience loneliness as we do?
If so, all you mice and cockroaches can go to. hell. I will see you soon..
