House of Anxiety

by Luis Ullán
(Salamanca, Spain)

Monday morning without gravity,
while cats meow on the edge
of an old, cracking rooftop
up on the house of anxiety,
where all fears turn red.

Love is just a teardrop
up, where fears belong;
up, where we find us so down
we couldn´t choose a noun
just to say “help me out”.

And now this deep regret
carves my name on the grave,
where buried souls claim for a reason,
a reason we will never forget.

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