From These Wounds

Souls in gangrene, deformed human projections

Moving, but not living, on sanguis vibrations

Your pseudo-lifes, please follow my tedious call,

Vertical pain

I dare you: bury me so deep that i won't smell anymore

The disgusting stench of your flesh

So deep that i couldn't see anymore

The pale colour of your skin

Down there,far from the violent cries of your children

And just there, far from all your boring questions

Questions, questions, questions

May you be devoured at once by your own curiosity

And your mouth become the most ruthless of all murderers

This is the chant of the grand cosmic defeated,

To you, conqueror of everlasting earthly frustration

Your smile: vulgar horizontal contraction

Had always been my pain, vertical pain

Ah! your smiles...

Become conscious that an universe of sewer hides inside you

Silent, but patient, always your last heartbeat

To start its slow demolition work: mater putrefactio

And then this flesh of yours, once illuded to change the world,

Shall again feed the ground, and the ground, new worms,

Counting a grotesque cycle of cosmic gangrene

Born from the wounds of men,

The once preacher of existential depression

Disclosed my tenebrous double,

With no time, sound and size: magister silentii

I, king of a woundless reign, where the feeble memories of your faces

Are just like yellowed pictures of defuncts

Where your words, re-echoing far in time,

Sound like laments of a dying bat

And those wounds, once deep and atrox

Are only dead masks on a tragic marble