A smoke had taken care of all home,
Approached through the wings of bitterness,
Hostility and misunderstanding.
Came slowly taking the furniture
and the beings that lived in this residence...
There had never been clemency,
nor a cry of despair,
Diluted into hatred and disgust,
Shaking everyone
In dead and deep flavor...
She is the real madness,
She no longer wants to you,
It crumbles into pieces,
And the pieces are no longer steel
And the shrill, cry echoes in the silence,
Inconstant...
Scrapping easily as old parchment paper,
Involves home, smoke helium,
Leading to the depths
The tracks that created and left behind in drops of blood
and every those who expressed, alive...
(Joyce Martins)
