El Suspiro

It’s hard to find the space to breathe in between the places where the thoughts belong. It’s that piece in the middle of the inhale… exhale… that is crowded with voices that speak works as if they were singing songs. It’s just that the voices are high pitched and the sing-song is exhausting to my ears. They’re loud and shrilling like old gears grinding against one another chipping away at the atoms that make up its components. I beg for silence, but my mind is unfocused because it forgets that if you’re accustomed to sound pollution, the silence is shrilling too. So again… I’m stuck in the in-between of the inhale…exhale… as I will my lungs to remember what it feels like to breathe.


Mis pensamientos corren a sitios indeterminados mucho como el sonido de mi voz que se encuentra siempre corriendo como los chorros del rio. Mis ojos me recuerdan de lluvias atraídas por dolores de cabeza que hieren la mente y los pensamientos característicos de voces calladas. La lluvia sigue cayendo en aguaceros ligeros porque parece que ni el cielo recuerda como contar los intervalos.

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