Cancer

in the corridors of this endless labyrinth every corner hides the abominable, like your last sad diagnosis, crumpled up and thrown on the old sideboard, or my pale face in the embarrassing portrait, still scared of the storm that made the sunflowers disappear from the city, because this is a suffering in thick drops, it descends slow and bad through the cold walls and within all the medicines we find no solution, even trying to corrupt happiness with false therapies or keeping and forgetting the tickets of our trips to illusion, but now not even the broken armchair misses of our pain while it rots quietly in another dark corridor, in the abandoned house a mummified grasshopper lies beside the little boxes with padlocks, as if we could keep the screams of the wind that toppled our world, or if we could still see and follow in the footsteps of who we would never be again, it was you who tasted the sour void, you who saw the exit sign that time swallowed, It's really good not knowing who we were, because if we've lost each other forever and I'm no longer allowed to remember, the mirror of memory did well when it broke