Holy Week

closed curtains
in all rooms
the blood runs free
on the kitchen tiles
from the kitchen to the bedroom
a dark infinite corridor
of faded memories
names, places, parts
of a puzzle
distant footsteps can be heard
in the infinite dark corridor
the river of blood
covers the feet up to the shins
in all rooms
the curtains are closed
the glow of darkness
warms up environments
and leaves stains on the sheets
and on the endless walls of the corridor
there are whispers in the sticky air
there are murmurs on the surface
there is the red of blood
the emptiness of names, of places
the emptiness of the puzzle pieces
and there are presences
behind the closed curtains...