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SR. JUDGE



Mr. Justice

I must say that I was always a stranger
In this city of lights which looked wonderful

With sadness
For bluff off the hand of a naughty child
O
plan out very resistant to any failure
O
factory

was my darkness that surrounded the outside lights
of whom hated
A



I got tired of losing my fingerprints without leaving traces on the sidewalks
And perhaps

The masks were guilty

faceless smiles
forceps delicate
filthy hands if I do not understand I'm not trying to justify

I was a cob grit in
That did grow in the sun

But you know
Today everything is so demanding and so hollow
while
I rushed and I was sad
Everything was tragically outside
The hum of insects
spits words
The feed was a pitiful
obligation to keep

How can you . see
A man can not be a poet ...


So assassinate me.