Women With Macromastia In Car

Alcoholismo I

Summers
are cold when you sleep in doorways,
when the tremor of the fingers
play songs without violins,
when cirrhosis,
when the pains.

Summers are delusions,
not exist for the beggars,
us, we always have cold shivers heart

us and drink our solitude as the only
exorcism.
Solos, hoarse
our loneliness. We drink
one by one,
a drink,
until we die,
to forget that once we lived life

and lost.