Diseases of the Soul

How easy it is! as simple as the daybreak, everything is there and there is nothing to do. I arise at the time that I want to, and I do as I please, I always reach my goals, I only smile and I put everything the wrong way, no matter what it is or who it is. I don't listen to the things that don't interest me, I don't feel or see them.
I believe in the beauty and its power because I have the power of doing and undoing; the moon is in my hands and the sun will arrive shortly.
I enjoy life, and bad things only happen to other people, the effort is not for me.
I always want to be the admired beauty, the golden flower, the happiness. Others must respect me the way I am, and the way I handle my life. Since I am like this and I don't care what others might think, since I am only a little bit irresponsible.

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Diseases of the Soul

Drop after drop, sigh after sigh for all eternity. Who can stand this and who can help this?

Your load is a suffering that makes you sing. And in your heart, this will be because of so much crying.

Madness is guessed in your voice, and it is the pure hope that broke your wings and then started to walk. There is no time, no moment left, since from here we continue until we find the end: The Litany of Complaints.

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Looking for the most despicable

We find Satan in his kingdom of hell and since he is always very curious, he wanted to pry more in the hearts of his main guests and went looking for the most despicable who could resemble himself.

He then went to the heart of the crazy, of the addict, of the assassin, of the immoral and went through many hearts. Until he entered into the heart of one who seemed not to have a heart and who even startled himself.

And Satan said: " This is even worse than me, this is the one who does not have a heart because there is nobody worse than him. He is the ungrateful."

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The mortal poison of hatred.

What poison is so big that can kill forests, the enchanted garden of the golden memories, breaking your bones? But it does not end there, it will become stronger and it will squash you and its presence will be like gas burning your throat, blocking the path to your heart, destroying it, which will keep on beating only with pure pain. What can this prodigy be? so damned that it overcomes the myth of the eternal death. It is without any doubt, the voice of hell, is satan in its most original presence, its most personal closeness. That mortal poison is nothing more, nothing less that the own tongue poisoned by hatred.