Sometimes my anguish has the 

the taste of salt,

lip biting

and breaking of the sternum.

Sometimes it’s with me staring at dead ends and praying to the living Gods that it isn’t today when everything collapses.

It comes without a declaration of war,

it comes

 with the dry skin

the muscles tense for battle

and my reflection has a death that demands to be heard.

My sadness has the taste of looking at doors and windows with the desire for arms that hold me when the air is lost in my lungs

Is that everything has the flavour of the discounted time,

And I fear open streets and public places

as not to feel when the statue breaks with a hello that has the connotations of: "Are you okay?"

that breaks into millions of lies that are translated into hollow-eyed smiles.

And it is that every time it has the taste of regrets that I never understood.

 

Ta.