Eleven
Amaya López-Carromero
Blow out the smoke, inhale the words
Like the story you were waiting for, in the air
I light a match, you've got the fuse
It's the fire I’ve been waiting for all the way
Powder machine powder the wings
I don’t need them anymore
See myself turn, into the dust
Into golden makeup for the ladies
With the star above
Shadows glimmer, trails erased, finally
In cemetery sinks
Grinding as one, our bodies
Fading silently
Follow me down, the hole
For the light that burns, our souls