Compartimento 13

What would be of me If I ever stop moving forward Moss Mold My soul sinking into the soil six feet below me Would your lips exert enough attraction To pull me out of my own gravity (If what I carry Is so heavy so heavy Too heavy That time                             slows                                                   down                                            [around me. Would a lifetime on earth Feel like a minute in my skin Would i ever get to love again If anything I get to love is dead within a Heart           Beat Would I be in peace or would I weep now that trains move too fast for me to catch any) –Jo

"What is a ghost but a body that cannot help but replay it's own suffering"        —Alice Lesperance. Me siento una casa encantada. Puertas cerradas tras las que se esconden oscuridades inabarcables para estos ladrillos. Llaves escarlata que tiñen de hierro la punta de mi lengua. Grietas invisibles en los muros de algo cuyos cimientos nunca fueron construidos ni pensados para soportar tanto peso. Desconciertos ajenos ante la obstinación con la que sigo en pie.  "Qué es un fantasma si no un cuerpo que no puede si no recrear su propio sufrimiento". " One need not to be a chamber to be haunted. One need not to be a house. The brain has corridors surpassing Material place [...] Ourself, behind ourself concealed, Should startle most; Assassin hid in our apartment, Be horror's least. The prudent carries a revolver, He bolts the door, O'erlooking a superior spectre More near". — Ghosts , Emily Dickinson. Jo