WHAT YOU TOOK FROM ME

I’m so tired.
So incredibly tired.

And I had forgotten
that some time ago,
you left too.

I haven’t been able to fall asleep.
I haven’t been able to eat.
I keep forgetting things.

It’s as if my senses
had atrophied.

I don’t know what the hell you did to me.

I don’t know what kind of sorcerer you are
to have left me paralyzed in time.

How many gods do I have to beg
to take away this endless sleep,
to stop living
in this autopilot
that doesn’t belong to me?

When are you going to leave
every thought
that crosses my mind
without permission?

When will these hands
stop burning,
these hands that still
believe they are touching you?

You only came
and took the sleep,
the calm,
the will to eat,
even the way
my body
used to recognize silence.

And you left me nothing
but pieces
of what I once was
and of what I could have been.

Give me back the meaning
of all this.

Give me back the kisses
I once gave you.

Give me back the passion
I no longer feel for anything.

Give me back the love
and that way of being alive
that only existed
before you arrived.