poetry

When I catch her,
I'mma get her with these two,
There you are,
Come here little thief,
Think you gon' fly and get away quick?
Uh uh!
Give up the emeralds or die,
I don't love you!

>the morbid tragedy and the privileged testimony,
>black mirrors, empty boxes
>our mishmash psychosis and traumas, our decadent smile

I'm annoyed with your adjectives. They're unnecessary and add nothing.

The viscera seem to them too little,
The mutilation and the punishment.
Between teeth murmurs of breath,
The desire to see other people's blood, the tragedy and the testimony,
Presumed, indifferent, a goal.

From the distance, from the outside, we hear the same noise everywhere. How not to wish it, if it has become our favorite show, how not to participate in the unhappiness of others, how not to feel superior as a witness and inciter.

From the crystals, mirrors, boxes, only tell us tragedies, tell me who I touch this time, how many glasses we drink today.

Let us celebrate our autarky, our psychosis and traumas, our smile of mass.

See? Simple and doesn't change anything. I'm also thinking that the "From the distance, from the outside" is excessive as well. One or the other. Bare bones. No frills.