outside the window

I´m a grown up now,

 still I don´t understand if you want me whole, 

or just my shell.

I´d peel myself, 

let my soul breathe cold winter air.

But you would still be a sinner,

who would never play fair.

I´m a grown up now, 

but of wicked ghosts I´m still afraid.

Auras haunt me in the middle of the night,

your tickling chain hangs from your eery hand;

and you see me count sheep, just never sleep.

-Lia Martínez (me).