I tore up black ivy roots
but they get even more tangled.
They squeeze with their clear prehensile feet,
they crush and crush,
they stick like black bandages to the trunk of the soul.
I tore up very green, 
splendid ivy, 
because they were as toxic and poisonous as bonds.
Strings that choke, choke, hurt.
I always hold children in my arms in dreams,
I feed them and I want to save them
but nobody saves me.
The blackness of the roots becomes ink and the poison enters the lungs.
I can't breathe in this toxic air, love is a guillotine and the head stays attached.
My children call
but my feet are cemented, 
I can't go to them.
Nobody saves us, 
it's not like in happy ending films, 
Nobody arrives and the ivy grows and suffocates us all, 
the graves will be made of earth, they will be splendid with plastic flowers and we will finally sleep peacefully.

%d bloggers like this: