The Big Mistake

It was a mistake To test everything I know. The fabric I trusted to hold Tore. What was left behind Were empty rooms which led To windows that framed women Naked in their repose As if their bodies were idols To be worshipped In temples of long dead religions Or as if they are a still-life in an obscure Museum Nowhere near Your hometown. some became dancers sooner or later unaware of The stare coming from the phantom audience in a Monday afternoon club. Their names have become letters Floating to the bottom of a sea With millions of other names. Its currents will guarantee you will never return.