Some mornings I wake up
before dawn
and under my bed
lives a dark panther
of imposible size.
The wild fangs, the burning eyes.
She is never going to leave me in peace,
motor growling softly
with everything that is evil.
The opposite of love is not hate,
It's the emptiness you leave.
The kisses you will never give,
the soulless landscapes,
the windowless souls.
The panther sits on my chest
and roars
in my face,
licking her whiskers so close
that I can
smell her last night's dinner.
Me,
who wanted to be
rainbows and wide smiles,
I lie still,
waiting for the assault,
in mortal silence,
fixed in her eyes.
Five, four, three, two...
