by Luis Ullán
(Salamanca (Spain))
I never tried to reach the top of the floor,
hole where I lived in years ago,
recently buried under the memories,
but recalled for a trial with destiny.
Now it´s time to check the boundaries;
time for the red carpet on the white line,
plain, pale veil in a blotted canvas,
knitted by the speech of the liars,
to find an addict affected by the themes
where words appear to be needles,
breaking my skin within silent screams.
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