Poetry

Don't give me aches,
by becoming tall.
I will not change my style.

Not scared. There
was a pause, between
the screams.

There you were
playing with the other truth,
which was not mine.

I was not alone,
buried in your hums.
Pain was my goddess!

The lamb was dead
taking off her coat. I wear
the skin of dandelions
to walk on wet land.