My sleep
Was a century without months. Without seasons.
Only my pain remembered what time it is.
It used to wake up in the hour before the shadows
When the air becomes suddenly so lucid.
I knew this lucidity,
I have seen it so many times:
It was the moment before death.
Title;
I paralyzed my feelings, my thoughts.
It was the fear of hurting.
That night
I slept an immense sleep that exhausted me.
Within it someone, maybe myself, said again and again:
Let me weep.
I am suffering of my own silence.
It's the worst pain.