Insensibility

I write poetry

with borrowed feelings,

with rotten smiles

and my tears…are frozen.

On the paper I put

the most true, fantastic

lies i know.

My medical record says:

she… has a lying disorder.

I breathe the cigarette smoke,

of burned paper

of flat lines

with nonexistent rhythm.

I cough my soul

On colored papery

Bright pink

because I'm sick

of white.

Sensibility has escaped

from my hands

has gone to a better stranger… probably.

I killed the emotion,

With an idiot, evil laugh,

To the floor.

I see the world in non-colors

It's not good for me

I'm sick ... of white.