Don't expect to open up my chest
with your bare hands, it takes more
to grope my gold, although, by now,
all must have turned into charcoal.
Don't expect to unseal my lips
with a kiss, I was patched up by distrust,
blazing swings swishing all over me,
the floor which life pierced its heels through.
For I belong to the world of words,
forever mute, tapping tunes
with my fingers, devoid of rhyme,
devoid of anyone to catch my lies.
