The Room for Broken Mortals Paula Araujo Parra
A loud shock, Screaming voices, Ubiquitous scarlet, And my blood-stained fingers That would reach for a broken phone As countless masked humans Would assist my lungs with oxygen, A murmur would be heard: “Bring me to his hospital” I would whisper with all my strength
As my body would be numbed with chemicals And your anxious eyes would gaze at mine, All I would desperately wonder
Is if you would give into The slightest temptation And disobey your own heart
If you would forget all our laughs And your skillful hands Would intentionally operate A few centimeters too far If you would ignore the memory of us And cease to tirelessly skim Through the library of your mind All because you would remember The words I told you on our first night: “I won’t be worth the fight” And realize I was right
A blur of blue clothed tired bodies Would attempt to resuscitate my heart
You would then hurriedly enter “The Room for Broken Mortals”, Expecting a stranger’s file And praying I would be the one casualty You would never encounter
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