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Nicolás Acosta

Nicolás Acosta

Blogs

The Losers Den

The Losers Den

Bilingual writing para mis homies que estén down en la depre :3
Nicolás Acosta Nicolás Acosta
Artículos : 34
Desde : 04/08/2014
Categoría : Humor

Artículos para descubrir

Retroactive Apology (In three lenguas)

Meu amor, ember of my very being médula indispensable, how can you muster the strength to love a ruin? This greedy leech stuck between your lungs steals your air and makes nothing of it it takes because it must but all it breeds is death death death morte voraz e ímpia. I draw circles of salt and ash but the spirits won't commune with me - você

Three Glaswegian Poems about Colombia

1. It is the weight of seasons that brings the unfathomable. The wound that breathes iron and screams. a fruit of misery hanging from the filaments of children torn asunder by this madness the gaping gash of birth, the midwifery of hate and resentment Autumn shall bring its songs of bronze, and the choir of whispers, of hesitant kisses and confessi

Beloved

“How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start, when memory plays an old tune on the heart!” - Eliza Cook At the heights of plague in this trickling agony -where caskets take the shapes of homes- blackened seas rise within us flooding the soul and its crevices shaping continents of rust and bitterness. I feel the weight of your oceans echoing acr

Jardínes

Y aquí sentado entre mis flores pobres estas astromelias de dos mil la docena, alimentadas con huesos hidropónicos desechos de jardines salvajes que crecen entre las obras negras de una humanidad inconclusa, de un corazón de cimientos dañados, un rosario de susanitas quemadas, de chirosas atrapadas en libros que nadie lee, en esta fauna de lo m
Umbra Noctis

Umbra Noctis

At the shores of a formless boundary where water cleanses the bodies of the lost and the stones are bleached under three wandering suns my mind parched by merciless thirst drags itself through scorching sands looking for a nexus where time and blood collide so I can crawl back to the womb of night and be remade in its image. To be a vast firmament
Internal Processions

Internal Processions

You claim that we must look inwards for peace and revelation in this season of death and fear, but what lies in us is a foul sight. Is this a ruse? A way to entrap us in a pit of our own making? To send us back to the dead wombs that gave us shape? to the spasms of a dying will that nurtured our heaving mouths? The salt of regret christens us in ou
Axe Pendulum

Axe Pendulum

Tethering violently on a million edges chased by voracious chasms fathomless and relentless filled with the echoes of ghosts that shouldn't be there anymore. In the wake of uncertainty the vanquished foe reassembles itself with scraps of my flesh and what was known -what could be subjugated by the arts of self-sufficiency- stands victorious over me

Rutinas de Self-Care Mañanero en Cuarentena

De la cama al espejo primero -y en el espejo- la raíz inamovible de este dolor, de este dolor que aplasta como la bota de un policía, como el descaro de una tía goda e hipócrita que esconde bajo la alfombra las lágrimas de su hija y el semen de su esposo, como el odio silencioso que se come a mi madre de adentro hacia afuera mientras me sonrí
Noise Labyrinths

Noise Labyrinths

The rites of normalcy are exhausting. I am expected to rein in this sea of crackling distortion every morning and present a somewhat contained organized balanced version of myself and the joy and energy of my being -perhaps a remnant of an age of innocence present only in dreams conjured by someone else- kick and scream -a tantrum of repression of
Paths

Paths

The Last Judgment - William Blake Wrenched in anger this throat spits chunks of hallowed flesh, salvation once again rejected the bondage of holy consecration despised again. Blasphemy is the sister of clairvoyance desecration is lucidity. But something remains amiss, barely out of touch, just enough for me to know its edges and be denied its form