Home of Agony
I try to sleep, but haunting images don't allow my heavy eyelids to
rest. I am sensitive, I feel the despair of the living, of the dead,
soul in agony.
I rise from my bed, injusticed voices scream, spirits bound to fetters
ask for justice, beg for mercy.
The mirrors are doors, in them I don't see my reflection, I see the
pain of those who had their life interrupted.
All disturbs. If not those already gone, then those still to go,
marking my body in scarifications of hunger, thirst, oppression and
So I fill myself up with morphine, dumped in a dirty sofa, gazing at a
TV and praying for the overdose to come soon, fulfilling my pained
body by the blessing of the interrupted. Waiting to die.
Autor: Felipo Bellini Souza Criation: 11/12/2009 Objective: Newspaper UFRN - Professor Sandra Erickson