it's the color of warm coffee with extra cream
it happens when sitting alone worries others but satisfies the soul
you feel the existence of something that swallows you, but you do not want to surrender to the sinister
you lose your power to face it in despair, but you are in the calm

it sounds like an echo of sounds of endless conversations in an auditorium
all incomprehensible
and it smells like the cake you left uncovered in the refrigerator, something rancid
but edible

the sound of rain is the best music; and like crazy you start to hum
but like all the others, when the rain stops and the clouds are gone
you stay there, in the same way
you look down and there's a puddle, and you smile

without saying anything, looking at the world
there, I'm looking at myself