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What you allow to live is more important than what you have killed

In life, the lines are blurry,
and no one will give you a magic magnifying glass
because they know what you are going to do with it.
You will smash it on the linoleum and count all the debris
matching them with their wrongdoings,
hating everything you are,
thinking this is who you are.
So you will take the saw by force,
hammer,
knife,
and become a butcher or an executioner of all that you are not,
firmly convinced that you will give the world everything it needs.
But, all of you is not a mistake.
All you are is change.
Your bones are elastic,
but they cannot move if you tie them with rubber bands
because you are afraid to know in which direction they would take you.

All you are is a complexity.
You live in a jungle that crawls with words.
But you don’t care. You collect them.
You put them in rows and tie them to butterflies,
to fly,
you tell them to throw them on the graves of the past,
as you watch them rise again,
free,
the way you want them to be.
But on paper,
you are a commercial serial killer,
a starving thief with a charismatic look,
with a long career as a butcher who works only with words,
not with meat,
because you can’t see people that way.
So you are selling advertising,
you are selling your skills;
as if they were initially yours.
Everything you are is unseen,
but experienced,
the choreographer of your performance is not you,
but the work you do.

The universe has nothing to gain
if you surrender to it with the words you grind,
so you are selling to others.
You are your world.
Take up your shards and shove them into your words.
Only then will you see what kind of business you are making.
Check how selfish you are.
You cannot bite your skin,
you cannot make a word out of yourself,
if you can’t waste your meat.
You are a kidnapper with Lyme syndrome,
well guarding the victims of all the words whose necks you have cut off,
nurtured and interrupted,
hoping they will not find out
as much as they need,
like places, you used to live.
They cannot even look you in the eye anymore
while your future looks
become blisters on your eyelids,
causing raw pain
every time you blink.

You are not a god,
but you are going to be born again,
born as someone who fulfills the impossible at any time,
appealing to the longing of lonely customers who want to taste a few words,
and you are here,
to sell them the perfect story,
at the door of the advertisement,
that would attract everyone like you,
but you will become alive if you admit it,
no, you cannot afford that.

You summon them with one hand,
and with the other, you single out the best thick pieces of words,
still hungry for the same,
but refusing to bite what is on the table.
What have you become? A stalk?
Weeds in symbiosis with scissors
and other sharp objects
that will make you bow?
You are continuously dying,
you always come back,
self-repulsive,
but determined not to give up,
the only urge that made you alive.
But no,
although irresistible to everyone,
you want to be flawlessly ugly to yourself,
you seek to be one of those who invoke anger,
with roots suffocating anything around it.
A look that says:
choose me if you dare,
because I am not of the flesh,
and I cannot live from it.
Your hands break when you strike with a hammer the words you loathe,
to get them as soon as possible to a tourist who travels alone forever,
and words inflict guilt on themselves,
as if iron should apologize
forging itself into a weapon.

Well, they say that the word is a weapon?

You used proverbs,
forged a screen to hide your true nature.
Are you already alive?
Your words are here,
but at the same time gone.
Wake up,
the executioner of others’ undesired words.
It is not up to you to sell what others are dying to find.
Meaning disappears when we are aware of it.
Wanting to be alive
to survive means never knowing why.
Admiration means nothing
if you have to touch it to know it is there.
Evolutionary superiority comes at a price, just like the content.
It isn’t for everyone.
You were born hungry.

But, the ego is fragile.
Some things we cannot digest,
so spit it out.
Your teeth should always be sharper than the skin that protects the flesh.
Use the pieces the people cut out of you.

And, do not be greedy:
what you allow to live is more important than what you have killed.

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