jueves, octubre 22, 2009


Neither the color nor the resin,
but the girl.

The girl with small legs that no longer run;
With arms that do not hug,
With a smile that does not come home,
eats soup and talks about her day.

The girl, that now emerges as other girls;
and she is, time and time again, taken.
Other legs, arms, smiles; gone.

And they all stay, cold, distant.
Forever trapped in a tarry reality;
Sharing the same sad name.

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