GLASS PRISON
Mornings nail me to the chair of the clocks of my penance,
Minutes pierce me like poisoned needles.
I devour luminous mirrors
That regurgitate falsified truths.
I feed on bitterness and devastating pains,
To endure the dictatorship of suffering and indelible scars.
My lugubrious laughter has fossilized,
My wounded heart has turned into a granary of grudges.
My demons and ghosts knock at the door of my fate
Like soldiers demanding their tribute.
I sign contracts with my own perdition,
I rent my youth for a few bills tarnished by my cowardice.
Outside, crowds kneel before the showcases of misery,
Praying to plastic idols.
They sell their time at the market of sterile chimeras,
They call freedom this cannibal chain.
I would like to scream until the dungeon of my existence shatters,
But my throat is clogged with dust.
I would like to break this glass ceiling
That separates me from a life I have never tasted.
I am a voluntary slave in this morbid century,
A spectator forced to contemplate his own decomposition.
I cling to notebooks scribbled with the blood of my sacrifices
Like a castaway on a raft of ink.
If one day my melancholic monologues escape their bars,
May they become a fire in your veins dilated by fear.
May my pain turn into a banner,
And at last may this ordeal implode beneath your wounds.
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