I’ve heard .

I’ve heard some people,
some lots of people.
I’ve heard them cryin’,
heard them laughtin’
heard them choking
at my words.

I heard them sending me to hell
for all the things i’ve said
i’ve read
i’ve thought
i’ve lived.

Hell.

What they call hell.
It’s inside me.
It’s inside you too.
Hell is all the things you’re not able to say.

All those thoughts that drawn
on a sea a procrastination
and good behavior.

All those things you are
dying to try.

But you don’t dare.

That’s what hell is.

Hell, is all around you.

Hell is the pagliacci
that cries over his wife body.
The Harlequin
that stole a woman’s heart.
A child who lost his way home.
Hell is a desperate woman,
trying to make a living on someone else sheets.

Hell is what you make for a living.

Hell is inside me,
but no when i think
of pleasure,
or measure.

Not when i speak freely
of sex, politics or mercy.
Not when i curl my hair,
and put on a lipstick.

Hell is the thought
that i get when i
can’t walk alone at nite.
When i’m too scared to move.

Hell is when memories
came back like livin’ things.

Hell is inside me only then.
Hell is always inside us.

And all the demons are human.

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