Sometimes  I see the negative in the reflections of my neurons that analyze the  behavior of adult beings dressed in cruel inspirations in sarcastic  fallacies.

Sometimes  I observe my companions in the room near my cloisters, and I know that  their minds are full of doubts, hatred and despair of the world that  they have to face.
Tell  me if it is not, that on the night of your first stay in this toilet  you cried on the lap of your cot clinging to a photo of a certain  girlfriend, who knows who kisses kissed.

I  was an inert witness of rapes to the flesh of others in hard bruises  forcing to lower the temple, to close the eyes, doing the only thing  that the laments do, the cure of the physical wounds, not the souls.

Sometimes  I was mother, father and counselor at the same time of those cast to  their lot, because I had had experience in this hast o, where the brave  is the one who steals your intimacies by making your life the undeserved  wretch.

I  was a depositary of pu aladas, collective anger, executions in impunity  sustained by the apathy of a corrupt society of the feet at the head of  the awkwardness that has given birth to our prison situation.

 I  feel these bars as part of a silent movie where everyone screams, they  make pampering, but the subtitles were not included and the public  laughs at the things, the pushes, and the smacks but not does nothing, just look.