They have come.
Invade the blood.
They smell like feathers,
lack,
crying.
But you feed fear
and loneliness
like two small animals
lost in the desert.
They have come
to set fire to the age of sleep.
A goodbye is your life.
But you embrace
like the mad snake of movement
that only finds itself
because there is no one.
You cry under your weeping,
you open the chest of your desires
and you are richer than the night.
But it makes so much loneliness
that words kill themselves.