My life has turned into a hard sleep
And the sleep into work
And this unconscious reality into an endless theater of short stories
Which I ad lib,
Relying on the certainty that I will reach the end
Comic, or tragic.
The more I learn
The merrier I laugh
The harder I cry.
The direction of my heart against the direction of my compromises
Is tensile.
I compress.
Am I sleeping?
Is this a machine?
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