COMO ABRAZADO A UN RENCOR.

“He's done for,” the neighborhood gossips declared; and the man, already dead in their foretelling, at the final moment of his poor life on the margins, left the world a testament of these bitter words, sprung from his resentment...

Tonight my exploits have ended forever; a mysterious whisper corners my heart. Someone is sharpening the scythe's edge in the shadows, and something near the bed is sniffing out my coffin. The foulest memories tear my head apart: a childhood without toys, a past without honor, the pain of chains that burn my wrists, and a woman who brings my manly pride to its knees.

I want to die with only myself, without confession and without God, crucified on my sorrows, as though embracing a grudge. I owe nothing to life, I owe nothing to love: life gave me bitterness, and love, betrayal.

I don't want the performance of heartfelt tears, or consoling words; I'm not looking for pardon. I ask for neither sacraments nor funeral speeches: I surrender meekly, as I once surrendered to the cop. Only you, my distant mother, if you were alive, would have the right to light four candles at my farewell, to pour your whole heart over my godless agony, to weep upon my hands and ask me for my heart...