La noche no se va,
se queda pegada a la piel.
Como el sudor. Como la culpa.
Jeringas como flores podridas.
Miradas que pesan.
Silencios que muerden.
El Raval no te abraza.
Te prueba.
Y si flaqueas, te escupe.
Hay grietas en los muros
que no se tapan con cemento.
.
Olvidado por los santos,
bendecido por los perros.
Aquí no se viene a buscar paz.
Se viene a pelear.
A perder.
O a entender
que hay belleza en la ruina
que no pide perdón.
.
Raval, bastard child of the pretty city.
The night doesn’t leave—
it sticks to your skin.
Like sweat. Like guilt.
Needles like rotting flowers.
Stares that weigh heavy.
Silences that bite.
Raval doesn’t hug you.
It tests you.
And if you flinch, it spits you out.
There are cracks in the walls
that no cement can hide.
Forgotten by saints,
blessed by strays.
You don’t come here looking for peace.
You come to fight.
To lose.
Or to understand
that there is beauty in ruin—
the kind that never begs forgiveness.
