The air is smokey
my eyes water,
my mouth is dry.

The air is smokey,
I find it hard to breathe,
it's too familiar,
like the symptoms of anxiety.

When you hear the word "*****",
do you think of the whistling melody of an instrument?
Or perhaps the rythm of a beating heart,
and the pattern of breathing lungs.

We may try to put water in a mold,
to shape it forever without letting it freeze.

Impossible.

It will drift quickly upon a river,
fall fast when shooting out of a faucet,
sail openly on cold metal
and sink when in contact with fabric.

Water has no form, yet it possesses one of the most
magnificent beauties of our world.

It was a falling, tingly sensation at first.
And once I opened my eyes, well,
I couldn't believe what they were showing me.

"Oh, hello! Welcome to Hell!
What's your name? Oh, there's the bell!
Tell me your sign,
and I'll tell you mine!"

"Oh, uh, Emilio," I replied, hesitant.

"As the French say,
enchanté.
Persephone is my name,
let me lead the way!"

"It's not what you think,
no fiery pits of blazing brimstone.
There's no torture, torment, and you're surely not alone!"

"Welcome to Hell,
there's plenty of pros,
just don't venture to the well,
don't touch the rose."

"You live normally,
and to Heaven you go,
just as long
as you do all your chores!"

"Oh, take the left,
this is your dorm!
Please, make yourself at home,
you have a long way to go!"

"I beckon you good luck,
come out of your shell!
As I said before,
Welcome to Hell!"

You would like me to brood
while you remain aloof,
how is this fair, I ask?
What would you like me to do?

Your voice is smooth,
an angelic rumble of laughter,
a serenade of sweet nothings.

I don't know what to call this
sensation,
your voice like running water,
it must be an aphrodisiac.

Go to sleep,
enter your world
full of dreams,
and soon you'll see
the sun rising above
the beech tree.