perdida; perdiendo

revuelta
desnuda entre las sábanas.

borrosa
en sus ojos y en sus manos.

con miedo
a girarse
porqué le gustaba
el camino de sus dedos
resbalando por su espalda.

negada
a soltarse de otras manos
por si se caía
de su nube.

intrusa
en su cama y en sus pensamientos
gemía su nombre
y se reía
con los ojos cerrados.

perdida
seguía andando, sin moverse
hacia el puto sol
que la cegaba.

perdiendo
la ropa y la cabeza
debajo de la cama
donde las palabras
y los silencios
se llenan de polvo.

cabreada
seguía mirando
sin ver nada de nada.

callando
le escupía al futuro
y anhelaba el pasado.

callada
de noche
se cubría los pechos
y en la curva de su cuello
un desconocido
se llevaba su alma
y la incendiaba
con un cerilla
que le había dado ella.

misconception

Misconception of the self. A soft pain hitting his chest with a non-coordinated tempo. The smoke slightly escapes between the lips. The hands shake as thousand earthquakes.
You're nervous. You're hurt. You're mad. You're empty.
Only the afection of a significant other can return your senses back.
There's love, lust, pain, loss.
The blind sight of ten incoming trains impacts him to the bones. He falls to the ground and he barely feels. His brain replays a high pitch all over his head.
There's loss.
The wind fades the ashes away and he's left with a smoked cigarrette. He doesn't even smoke. His hands are cold between his thighs, looking for mutual heat. He sighs. Tiny pieces of ice cut his face sofly. Snow.
There's pain.
There's blood all over the ground and a corpse in the middle of the big red stain. People look, people stare. They scream. Some of them are even crying. Someone's calling the police. The ambulance. Some of them are taking photos. Others run, others sit there shocked. Life's hard to give and easy to take.
There's lust.
She sighs and smiles. Their bodies divide becoming two. They were an only and unique being, for once. He lays down next to her.
Her fingertips draw thin lines on his nude chest. Softly taps his shoulders, with a non-coordinated tempo. The smoke of her cigarrette escapes between her bright red lips. His soul shakes as thousand earthquakes when her hands touch his skin. "You're not that bad", she laughs.
He rolls his eyes. She laughs again.
There's love.
A girl sits next to him. She does smoke. He doesn't. But he has cigarrettes.
-Do you want one?- he says.
-I have mine.
-You can take my cigarrettes if you want. I don't even smoke.
-It's snowing. -she looks at him with piercing green eyes.- what are you doing here?
-I could ask you the same, don't you think?
-I'm smoking. What are you doing here?
-I thought I lost someone.
-Did you found that person?
-Yes. -he looks at her.