Twisting Pain In Lower Abdomen

Instant

Revuelta between paper I trace this morning.

I scribbled map from the verses of other verses that tell me I better not write anything. And I tore this cold galloping involved in, as if it were a tangerine.

Desmembar the fruit, I say-fragment the soul.

Amid the activity there is a silence that heralds the tempest moved it progresses, the stubborn sky up to the deck and gray and purple flood the shores of this village of mud that covers me, it haunted my people , with its rotten vantanales hit by the indifference of strange looks.

Maybe a little light neon-me-say it is cold enough.

Hints of white light clench your teeth recharged highway travelers, and is outside this town of mine, who wakes up in a side street, a warm lantern light in the throat.