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"Las rosas son rojas..."

"Las Rosas son Rojas,
el cielo es azul,"
el ser humano es cruel,
y todo lo escrito también. 

Se empieza la rutina, 
como el que trabaja en una mina,
sin ganas de encontrar, 
aquel tesoro. 
Sin ganas de mover aquel,
hipócrita cuerpo, 
sin ganas de amar,
al otro sujeto,
el mismo que se mira en el espejo. 

Al final de día, 
las ganas, 
que nunca existieron,
Ya se murieron. 

Aquel sujeto, 
el del espejo,
desdichado como ruína,
y todo esto... 
culpa de la rutina. 

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