My nose has bled over the table
and you left me without
paper tissues or glamour magazines,
all those things I need to rehearse
my scene locked up in the bathroom
and the light turns frightening
when I hear his breath
through the walls,
when I hear his steps
in the corridor
cause nothing could be as terrible as him
standing here, right next to me,
unfeeling.

Obra de Chiara Bautista - milk