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In a desert, now without sand, now without ice,
a sun rises overwhelmed,
and thousands suns are devoring each others.

Hundreds of ghost dance the madness
I homes burning, everything I kill.

Ghost of hope besieging desperately the impregnable chilhood,
deciphering across the blackness, I rest in a pious naivety.
Guthflaws borderig the abyss, tears wading it across,
everything is dying.

Because I am just only twelve thousand million eyes,
blind and fool I must spit on the evidence.
Nights of confuse pain, fluctuations of a wake up,
remembrances of a deed, dreams of the always sleeping.

Deliverate Insanity or weak salvation, numb carnal desire taking me
to the hell of childish cloisters.
I wake up to a -desolate by a non chosen- nihilism world
becomes disdainfully rooted in a soul suffering of anguish.

Nihilism paralyzing me... at dow.
Non chosen skepticism,
makes its way in a persevering pain.
Metaphysical of all Pandora Boxes, not opening but exploding,
and I should gather the etehreal pieces.
Last abstraction: Am I?

Faith only understanding through suffering,
and if i the naivety it is the path of everythig bearable;
"Eyes and heart to see", apathy again, illness...I am.

His suffering was nothig, if god created us in his image and his likeness
he should be crying for thousand years.
Where is the god of the sick? and of the desperate ones?

I observe a world through tired eyes, life denied goes on.
Nihilism whithouth act: the gates of a relived suicide opens.
Emptiness turnig a paralyced ownness off.

I cry at last alone, my solitude.

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