scars

Those non-visible marks show a desolate landscape
Where history drew footprints
that were left in the memory
and some looked at their anguish in front of the mirror.

He thought of his skin absent of caresses, above all
when the sun used to end the afternoon
leaving a sea of damp darkness
with a look that was lost in the ethereal.

The night arrived agonizing, wrapped by insomnia
with the rales of memory cutting through the air.
I never expect time to lull my feelings or
Let other hands come to sail
between the furrows that lacerate my memory.

I'd rather they see the hours,
like a scalpel weaving scars,
encrypting pain in the planes of loneliness,
drawing tears on a map with no precise destination.

<sub>Source

Vector image</sub>

_{Images edited with PowerPoint y PhotoScape}