SERGIO DIES HERE

I'm alone in my room with my pictures;
Mirrors in window displays of soul that cry in silent silence;
My house, immaterial property ..
The house itself. A deco art building ...
Street with noises, house!
Cats, spiders, cockroaches, dust, house ...
With rooms, windows, doors, bathroom ...
Cup-kitchen, yard!
I read a book: The Metamorphosis
Fran Kafka inspires me in his words;
Insert of things that may come;
Or maybe the ones they saw ...
I'm kind of Augusto dos Anjos
With a bat
And even, Florbella Spank ... Love!
Perhaps these things are unreal;
Imaginable! Intelligent! amazing!
Surprising because I'm here, standing in the uncertain, right!
Imaginable by being the person who glimpses;
Run through the corners without looking;
I see them in a motto of theme dilemma;
My life with Charles ...
So many others to come, they are!
Intelligent because the case of chance is the uncertain;
Something that awakens something right;
In an hour that is not certain;
The book involves me and I look at other titles;
Titles of which I shall be lulled;
Repeatedly calming ... lull, sleep!
Lucia came!
Delirium;
I wander the house in the dark;
candle lit in the hairs of my eyes;
The book is no longer the awakening of the hour;
Sentry of dark fears, late haunts;
Phone, ring!
Dream, memory of the fatigue that I put to sleep ...