O Rejeitado (ingles vers.)

By Dan Cilva

He sought compulsion, despair andA filth of the soul dried up like fountains of my life.They'll pick up the pieces of me everywhere when I'm done.
Every night, before this happened,I stood in front of the bathroom mirror of the house watching the bottomless darkness of my eyes and looked for the Rejected.
Rejected is what I call the pain that has been haunting me all these years since I remember. The first time I noticed it was when, at age 5, I asked my mother if anyone in this world loved me, she did not know the responder.
After washing my face with a chill of water, calm down and relax in the night, I went back to a bed where I rolled my tired body without being able to sleep. I wish I could leave at once. I felt the urge to run and slam a door behind me without looking back.
When I finally fell asleep, I dreamed about the house where I live, the night and like lights, where you walk through the rooms like a ghost. I turned the knob on the front door. It was an invader, taking the heat that remained of the night. Sitting on the floor in front of the open door, I'm as good as I am a boy.
My vision was lost in this bank, as if every drop could tell a story.
I woke up from this dream, drenched in sweat. My crumpled sheets revealed that my sleep was not tranquil. I looked out the window to realize that the night was slow to pass. I sat down with severe back pain. At the massage of the shoulders for the members of the bruises in my arms. It looked like he'd had a beating, that pain was so real, he did not know where he got those marks.
I went to take a hot bath to relax my body and forget about it.The water was falling, as if I could feel every drop stoning my back. That's when I heard the sound of the television. Someone had called! As? I was alone in the night, I lived alone! Had he locked the door?
I hear footsteps.
I hear something sharp scratching a wall on the other side.
Who's there?
The silence and my answer. Ousei opens a bathroom door, wearing only the towel. Terror took over when I saw him sitting in front of the TV. White hair, thin, with skin so dirty that malice was white. I was paralyzed praying to all the saints, so that the Rejected does not appear his eyes on me.
"I'm here, Roberto.
I closed my eyes to the list that, somewhere in the dark, I could take refuge. That freak, that madness that surrounded me through the mirror, was now before my eyes. I squeezed my eyelids tight. She felt her breathing coming. My legs would not obey. With each step of the Rejected I was trembling, I felt the blood running still alive by my ways. As the tips of his parched fingers touched my face. I nearly threw up with the rotten, acrid full of his breath.
Pedro, I must confess that I do not remember the following moments. Whenever I try to rescue something, everything comes like lightning that scares and I remember nothing. I am now living in the darkness of this psychiatric clinic, for the Rejected took my eyes and my sanity. I expected to be able to tell someone who experiences the dark side of the world.
Pedro? Are you still there? Do not try to know where he is! He'll take your eyes, Pedro!