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I live in the prison where
There are few secrets to reveal
Here where all is emptiness
And the nebula is extinguished
The weak thrill that dwells in a lustrum
The was no nurishment left for the worm
The feeling of being has dissappeared
There is only place for nausea

Because of that it was not
Because of that it was shapeless
Because of that it had no thoughts
Because of that it had no consent
Because of that it had no soul
Because of that it had no matter
For all that nothingness
For all corrosive hours
The immortality
Of this tomb
Dwelling
For all this life
There are places where my mind shouldn´t travel tonight
The extinguishing of my reason shall be followed by the depravation of the being
Here, between the pestilent & barroque gorge of nausea

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