Poetry

To whom it may concern
 
 
Here is the letter from a young boy, an old heart. We are so alone and homesick. We need hot water to make a coffee and lighter to smoke. We are taciturn, every day we meet a lot of young girls who are so beautiful, so desirable and charmer, but there is no right, or to better say, we do not dare to suggest them a friendly lunch, neither anything more. We are so close to papers, we are so close to screen. We wake up early at morning and sleep too late at midnight. We dream nightmares which are from our history of fears and hopelessness. We are from a country with no peace, from a planet with no intimate, from a womb which was violated. We are from a God who never helps us, we are actors in a live non-schedule TV series. We are finally who searches for someone who may concern us. We are in the letters, in the room, in the jails, in the moms, in the graves and we are superstars of a porn cine. We used to be diehard, we are poor and we are deceived goats.
 
 
Hopeless of finding the savior
 
All who may think are from this wing.
 
 
 
 
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