Left behind like a bastard
The kind of mistake you regret hardly worthy of a queer
Hanging from a shameful rope
Dry, tense and unflattering
Your days pile up and look the same
Like old books that have nothing to do together
The bile dresses you in a gray suit
Good too large for your age and tinged with contempt
To which breast to devote yourself, even withered ones
When even your parents maintain their denial
From bottles to bottles sea
And humiliations of torturers
The work of a finished drunkard, drunk, crushed
And of a numbed, scalped, raped shrew
A family photo with a blocked horizon
A kid on the grill, poached and abused

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