Those who know me inside out, always suffer from the contradiction I present- Of living life loudly and holding death close to my heart. My poetry and my thoughts are often marked by this obsession for death. Yet, for most of my golden circle, I don't appear to be the one.
Everytime the mirror
lifts its eyes
I see an imprint of
the memory
left aside by a conquistador
...
And I
embrace the shadows
it reflects
The memories and the body
become one...
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