La cuartilla en blanco la tienta. Quiere escribir frases coherentes y poéticas pero la rabia la observa desafiante, impertérrita; plantada frente a ella como una estatua invencible la invita a gritar, a blasfemar, a morder su propia herida y a dejar que un hilo de sangre la alivie de sí misma. No hay camino, sólo
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