Reading Charles Bukowski

the sound of silence makes

me think

that i do not deserve life

i do not deserve what i have

but i have nothing

except this life

full of mistakes

so i will waste this life

i will sell it in the black market

maybe they could give me some bucks

after all

people say my soul is rich

a wealthy soul that has a lot of money

but he is a bastard

because he won't share it with me

i can't sleep in this silence

it's full of noises

i hate this

like extremely hot coffee

and how it burns your tongue

and you can't talk propertly

so you mix up words

and you make noises

and people gives you money

because you are a freak

and you scream

GO AWAY

but they don't listen

because they think you said

something completely different

like

POURCUPINE

i don't know

i'm dead

Nieve Negra

Me duelen los pies de tanto caminar.

Pero es necesario seguir recorriendo tu cuerpo.

He llegado a lugares tan, pero tan solos.

Tan tristes.

Que me es imposible olvidarlos.

Y me toca escribirlos, en caso de que los olvide.

Estoy tan cansado y sentarme me quita tiempo.

Asi que, para mi cumpleaños.

Me puedes regalar una silla de ruedas.

Para rodar por tus venas.

Y sentir aquella sangre caliente.

Esa sangre que has guardado.

Para que navegue hasta tu corazón.

Hasta que me pidas que me vaya.

Y yo, me iré rodando.