Friday, 13 May 2011


pic, this is where i live by me

We are nothing

but a pile of bodies;

possible, potential carcasses.

Useless, sad, defeated carcasses.

Entrails adrift,

aspirant quarters of bull waiting for our momentary butcher.

With anxiety,

we await our executioner,

we crave it and we loathe it.

Sitting down, we await.

Lying down, we await.

We are pillows soaked in blood,

we are love,

fear and delirium,

we are pure and stagnant water.

Worms and herons

infusing fear;

lambs groping in the darkness

refusing light.

We are open doors

a window closed;

we are panic,




We are opaque colours,

paintings without perspective.

We are the future

and the annulment of Earth,

of the world,

of existence.

We are the Big Bang

and the Apocalypse,

we are God but we live in hell.

We are gelid,

but do not touch us

or you will scald yourself,

turning into ash on contact.

We are the ending,

we are the life,

we are little, huge

and repulsive.

Our eyes

are covered and our ankles tied,

we are free

and barefoot

and our hormones confused.

We are stains of blood

indelible from your path,

we are poetry,




We are adrift,

perfect and disgusting.

We are destruction and salvation.




We are humans.

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