Inverted Dream

the void is just an inverted dream in which we're all engulfed

doomed to the empty hours of eternity

to the periphery of shutters and mildewed desires

where idiot savants wander the wasteland

in search of lost love amongst the ruined

and what you call love

is nothing but a duel of salivas between perfumed corpses

who seek to accelerate their own destruction

and display their wounds under the beams of a luminous canker

you long for the insincerities of the flesh

that mere furnace of guts with the gift of tears

i love watching lovers profit from their own sicknesses

exploiting their disequilibrium with violence and skill

in the salon of blood and guts

that boneyard of dreams

with the extremities of passion

and rapture, rupture

into an abscess that absents the dismal abyss

which follows delirium