Ego, Ego, Ego

Ego, ego, ego.
Cego, cego, cego,
em tudo à minha volta nego
o que fez de mim eu.
A minha voz silenciosa,
de um sussurro arranhado,
desenha, esboça,
na rugosa
tela um grito, desdito,
que se contenta com ecos
de resposta murmurada.
23.05.2016
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