En este ultraje de tus brazos desfallecen las marcas de la sangre.

miércoles, mayo 13, 2015


En este ultraje de tus brazos desfallecen las marcas de la sangre. Nuestros cuerpos se rompen en esta noche imperfecta. Nuestros sueños se divierten, con sus mentiras nos usan con las alas de seda de las palabras, con el aullido de la mentira.



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