Gotas de Dolor

Maybe September
more than the beginning, was an end
and that summer
lost its leaves and something more.
Fifteen she,
the other sixteen.
A season,
tracks leading to a goodbye.
Two black eyes
sadly pinned to a glass
Dreams you have to put aside!.
After having
invented together
days and nights,
every second,
streets, caresses, rain
and some alcohol.
Black castles
on the sand,
flags talking
about a thousand pirates,
new sins
and a rebellion.
Drops of pain...
a puddle of oblivion.
Drops of pain...
a puddle of oblivion