who say they think and does not intervene, assumed the intellectual and is not involved, who laughs when others cry, which sees poverty as a phenomenon, which has not a drop of blood in the veins, which disguises the envy in his eyes harder, enjoyed seeing the pain of others, which is inside moss, litter and fear, which creates the most Poronga and not is just a little turd, the bureaucratic murderer, the executioner citizen who loves to spit up, the pimp otario is backed by authoritarian, and is an unfortunate pawn.
Those who are pure-me-care-a-mi-no-me-goals, happy to be created by ignoring all are equal owners of the shadows and lightning, but they are really tiny, wimp and bushings, life does not come into your lungs, no blood in the arteries are titles of newspapers, their skeleton is not bone, is of gunpowder and sirens.
between them I surrounded, their eyes bother me, I stalk and smell. But my head is recycling machine, throw me shit I return a carnation, I spit and rub my past, I humbly present a poem. I admit my chills, my trembling, my conscience full of adrenaline, I accept accusations of left-handed, K, N, M. .. My defense is simple: I am free and survivor!. Camilo
Blajaquis.
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