Boxing bag

The heart

I have it

of crumbs scattered

map divided into enemies

I gave it to everyone who had silence as a help

A harp with wind fingers that cried for those who didn’t dare to lament.

I have it to shreds for having moulded it into a boxing bag so that everyone who visits has a piece of peace.

So it has been,

forgotten that this organ is what keeps me alive,

rejected that with one more blow I die,

denied that each person who said he loved me is tattooed in it to then leave me.

My life I have it,

like marzipan that I let anyone take

like cotton candy that I carry to the height of whims.

  I leave it free and without a  shed

still believing that maybe one day someone will point it’s way to me.

TA.