Escape from the room and society

What do I carry in your soul?
To want to sabotage everything in me and in the world?
Is it the dynamite of random pain and torment?
From the game of biology and semiotics?
In this terrible darkness
that eats the revolution from my heart
I protest the silence as a revolutionary discourse against everything.
Van Gogh, I want to put an end to my tasting things. Aesthetics, no matter how violent, are what diverts my end. Is there an aesthetic in death, my yellow friend? Is it lacking? Life has tormented me so much, and I don t want resurrection in paradise´-or-hell.
When I think of suicide, I always see a yellow-orange land overcome by a deep silence.
I got so excited, mom
With the taboos of the world and its patterns
But no ecstasy is equivalent to revolutionizing it.
I hoped that writing can nurse
the wound in the soul
And the phenomena of the spectral herald appendices to me
But it is the association of chronic eternal nostalgia with eternal dystopia.
I am an unknown with various semantics
that appearance doesn t motivate it
And the shadows do not overrule it.
I want to be free from my desire for the mysterious
to be free from my desire to speak.

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