Gris


SALTO AL REVERSO

El dolor
no es ya el abismo
que mirabas
boca arriba
escrutando el techo
sin respuesta.

El dolor parece ser
—ahora—
una flecha
que miras de frente,
apuntando a tu mente.

De cualquier modo,
no lo quiero,
no lo deseo,
quiero alejarlo de ti,

de tu pecho,
de tu boca,
de tus ojos,
de tu frente.

Ver la entrada original

The Unforgiven


I can’t stand this
for too long,
so I will be brief:

You never heard that song,
but it was about you,
about us.

But it is not anymore.

Because I forgave you, d,
right there on the spot,
and even since long before.

I forgave everything,
I told you so,
in your ear, d,
when you were d…

(Anyway…
I’m completely fucking broken up.)

Madly :)


No, I don’t like cars.
But now my bag is full of them.

And certainly
I don’t like the
‘ba-ba’… balón,
or to play futbol.

And no, my name is not ‘dadá’
or ‘dedé’,
or just a plain loud cry.

Nor do I like the perpetual chaos
and the mess.

Oh, boy, but how much I laugh these days.

: )

And how thrilled I am now
to see a helicopter
or a ‘cuac’,

la lavadora,
el coche
o el ‘guagua’.

And how scared I am
of your ‘cara de monstruo’
or your shark bites.

And how grateful I am
when you fall asleep
in my arms.

But more than that,
I am madly in love
with the perfect cabezota
that you have.

And I absolutely did love
the way you said today
‘ma-má’.

: )

Self-murder