VOL IV

24/07

That moment when the muffled screams penetrate the walls and you search from your cradle for the frequencies of him, his dry voice, praying with a crucifix in your hand that you can only distinguish the defeated voice of mom and a phone so as not to have to prolong that suffering.

Dirtier than a worm, with water and mud soaking my pajamas, I found myself having to deal with the dirt starting to dig into my skull. I then drowned in mum's tears throwing up her pain in the ashtray without ever interrupting that atrocious song, but I still didn't feel clean. Rivers in flood would not have been enough to wash away this impotence. Nothing would be enough to survive the sticky summer heat as I moved the mud and bleeding bodies of memories off me.

The pupils weigh in my irises with the rib cage throbbing with every cough that passes through the walls.  

I'd rather not live than gut these bodies of memories that I have in my hands. I still remember how last Christmas evening sobbing and with my vocal cords strangled I was holding a cake trembling while I apologized saying drowned in tears that I only wanted for one night that everything was as before.

It's been seven months, what's broken wouldn't come back. 

Wouldn't it, mom?