And so, as I seem to hear in the distance a whisper of sanity that promises to close the Guantanamo hell, while Israel promised a truce that does not come, as the sun fight to push the fog, I strive to close the new cracks that have left a strange liquid filter, check my guts and lick my wounds again with thick saliva that promises to be healing and try to learn to doubt, is also a way to choose.
0 comments:
Post a Comment