Carrying I, an embroidered childhood of memories.
A childhood of dryed and fallen bosoms,
of broken windows without glasses,
of absent kisses that had been gone to travel,
of ghosten hugs of beings without arms,
of a alove that stayed traveling to the starts.

A childhood carrying I of a mother full of men,
and laking of childs.
A childhood carrying I, of childrens lacking of mothers
and full of loneliness.
A childhood of a losted and absent-minded look,
of happiness that are sadness,
of homes without families,
of buildings without homes sheltering phantoms.
Phantoms that during the nights as days of the universe's mind
travel around as if they were bodies of intangible life.

An embroided of memories, carrying I,
of a chilhood without milk.
Now I have all that and much more...