sonhos envenenados

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Os segundos demoram anos a passar, o bafo a arguardente velha insiste em ficar nesta minha garganta arranhada, queimada. Os olhos ardem por estas lágrimas quentes a ponto de ferver, a ponto de queimar o rosto que as amparam, o estômago dobra-se sobre as dores tão habituais, tão caracteristicas destes meus vícios, deste meu modo de amar a vida. Oh dores minhas, torturas nas madrugadas em que me acordas, soubesses tu o veneno que queima cada sonho meu, cada sonho em que faço do meu, o nosso.

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