Me

at the moment when i put my head
on my left hand
my left cheek on my left palm
feeling the warmth
of myself to myself
i may say without shame that
here i am again
thinking of you

my mustache is untrimmed
i have not shaved for day
my hair needs a cut badly
i smell i stink like a skunk
my coat has dust and dirt
my underwear has not been
changed
my undershirt has dried sweat

i feel so low these days
i have this discomfort of my soul
this pierce of the pins of my conscience
the furies are attacking me
day and night
with the possible weight of disgrace
and ripping grips of my regrets
perhaps because to you i have always
lied.