I have riddles hidden on my tongue but I’m choking on poetry instead.
I try to trace them back to my hands and always end up with unfinished tales
of how infinite and never-ending this limited existence feels…
Once again I distrust my judgment and now…
Now I’m surrounded by static and uncertainty.
I never wanted to wake up again…
I wonder if there will be a way out of this.
I can hear them coming and I try not to move.
My hands are tied and my legs hurt....
We’ve been walking through this desert for days.
I wonder if they will leave me here if they thought I was dead.
©Natalia M. Villarán-Quiñones
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