PEANUT

These ain't tears in my eyes
- it's just a crack in the ice
of an illusion of my face.
I'm lying in my death-womb
waiting for the day.

These ain't my hands, my feet and my head
- it's just a mistake of some lost and lonely flesh
I'm floating inside my death-pool
waiting for a bath in formaline.

What's that sound?
Is someone crying?
What's that yell?
It can't be me
My mouth is filled with someone else

Why are you crying
for something you've never had?
What are you crying for?
This pain will soon be gone dead.

------

Girona, May 12th 2008