You are standing in front of me
but only you face is here.
2 years and 2 months
of chocolates with nuts,
pizzas on a Saturday night,
sticky bed sheets
and bossa nova songs.
2 years and 2 months of
sexually harassing my mind
with words, promises and
comfort food.
2 years and 2 months of
building a home.
But hey, look:
you burned it down and now
it smells like death, fried chicken
and smoke.
There is a replacement of me now
washing the dishes and making the bed,
just like I did and just like how I was
a replacement of someone else.
And this is pretty much how
the days will go by
like we are all new actors
on the same old set
changing furniture around
and the pictures on the walls
and buying new plants
that will soon die
and soon will be replaced,
just like everything else
and you will keep swapping right
in everything that smiles
with insecurity
and the burned house
will be built again
and you will buy more plants
and more useless antiques
and you will swap more to the right
and every year of your life
will be another struggle
of fighting yourself.