This morning I woke up in the shadows that lurk in wet sheets. Among the seven words that shouted against the wall and door, and I slashed his face with the edge of silence . This morning I woke up sleeping with the ghost fills me, sometimes, between dream and dream, and invites me to not feel the breath of the tracks that try to be among so much mud ivy.
woke with a swollen face, wrinkled, unpresentable, say the neighbors prying the corner. Impresentable the loneliness that accompanies me to the bakery, pantry, to the kiosk. Impresentable recognize in the mirror with her dress on Friday afternoon. Unpresentable ways of interpreting the day and night, after dawn amid the screams and the silences between the walls shake me.
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