Micro Story

I was born to suffer, in the very beautiful village called Cali
My parents fathered me because a brother had died recently, and I went as a kind of "stand-in". Do you believe in curses? I did, because I was crowded, I was cursed from head to toe.
Already since boy was a poor devil, always lonely, always thoughtful. And when my companeros asked me "quiubo" as I do "", I told them "nimierda", it was not a winner with women, nothing could be further from that; the peeled ones saw me as a poor devil, the same one I referred to above.
My destiny was to reach 25, because later one repeats itself, and it is a laziness to repeat itself.
My thing was to write like incessant regurgitations, as if it were a source of digested food that was punching the piatones.
My life was "ay", and in the morning, and in the afternoon, and in the evening.
And my depressions ... aaah compa, pa I tell you, they were devastating, Say that there was the cute Patricita that consoled me, I like a child cried in his arms when my emotions overflowed me, poor Patricita, but she loved me .
I listened "out below" so many times from the bottom of my soul ...
that nimeimportaba, "AL CARAJO."
What the living do not understand is that we the dead have to make great efforts to communicate with their hell; It is like entering a kind of backward trance, and revealing the cards that you never played in your life.
But tell Patricita that I'm fine.
That I wanted to play,
and here,
you play the beautiful, you play with the faces of the living,
he teases them a bit, pa I'm going to lie to them,
and when you, deadly bastards, want to play the ouija, we have fun.
I left a beautiful wound on the face of a beautiful woman;
do not condemn her,
I'm the guilty.
I wanted to desecrate that beauty, with a naked violence of stinking vaginas,
and I think I did it.
My rumba continues, my sad rumba.
from my not being,
until the present.