De Carton Piedra

It was Glory dressed in tulle
with a distant and blue gaze
smiling in a shop window
with a small garnet mouth,
and some fake patent leather shoes
that sparkled in the sun's touch.

Clean and pretty. She was always in fashion.
All dressed up as if going to a wedding.

And I, at all times, went to see her
because I loved that woman
made of cardboard stone,
who from Saint Stephen to Christmas,
among sales and novelties,
made my sidewalk more tender...

She wasn't like those April dolls
that scratched me head-on and sideways.
That sent my innocence to hell
That ripped out my illusion completely,
no, she waited in her showcase to see me turn that corner, like a bride...
like a medieval maiden, asking me to free her, let's run away to write the story...

With a stone I broke the glass and ran, ran with her to my doorstep, her whole body trembled in my arms, the May moon smiled at us...
under the rain we danced a waltz, one, two, three, one, two, three, everything didn't matter and I talked to her about our future and she cried in silence... I swear it...

And between four walls and a roof
she burst against her chest
sorrow after sorrow.
I had the universe in my hands
and we made the past a verse
lost within a poem.

And then, they arrived.
They pushed me out of my house
and locked me up in these four white walls,
where some friends come to see me...
from month to month, two by two, and from three to six

because crazy people must be well locked up because they are a danger to society and to the mental status quo

because crazy people can still build images in the sky...
we can still be moved by the light of a smile...
we can still write cheesy songs and say I love you...