Gritos

Un poema sobre la locura
A poem about madness, ask if you want a translation

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2. Translation Screams

I'm too much of a lazy person to try and translate while keeping metric or rhyme, so I won't do that, but I'll do my best to keep the wording accurate

 

They scream. They cry.

They announce my death.

I don't know who they are.

I don't want that luck.

 

I just want to sleep,

but these beings,

won't stop existing.

I scream at them: who are you?

 

The echo repeats:

Who are you, who are you.

Something melts.

My pleasures leave.

 

The moon appears.

I observe it howling.

My body is missing

someone at command.

 

A transformation

has taken me from the

normal human action.

My skin, a sail

 

of silk with hair

so fine and thin.

My eyes, to the sky.

This was expected

 

I'll go hunt something,

my hunger is enormous.

I run like a greyhound.

Hopefully something 

 

to eat will appear.

My thirsty eyes

don't have one pleasure,

they are without feelings,

 

holes without an end

in a mental corner,

chunks of sawdust 

in a frontal lobe

 

That does not belong

to anyone I am,

and that vanishes

before I see it,

 

floating parts

in an insane sea.

Revolting things,

part of a great evil

 

being who attempts

to schizophrenic 

turn me. He tempts me

with an arsenic,

 

with thousands of options

with which to perish.

Do not disappoint me,

I dont want to lose me.

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