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
Dow 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 a universe of sewer hides inside you
Silent, but patient
awaits 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
continuing 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 silenti
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
sounds like laments of a dying bat
And those wounds, once deep & atrox
are only dead masks on a tragic marble