The demon in me
Check the shell and spill it’s secrets
Like and egg on a bare rock,
Before the sun for the world to see

The mind is an inferno
Ballads of the dead echo
Within the classics of the ancient
The winding chains around my heart

Pour me some blood
Quench this lust
And sooth my lust
The loins of a young maiden I long

To feel the warmth of her skin
With the sweat running on my back
Her veins pumped on her neck
And my fangs flashing in the moonlight

The death of flower
Withering with each kiss
Lies another body on my chest
The phantoms in my dreams



A dead clock

In the silence of the night,
Am caught in the sounds of my soul
Dark thoughts cloud my mind,
and am lost of calm

I can only go higher
Try I only come to see,
my folly,
the shame of the past

Life but a mystery
Happiness but a flash
Son but a life
And torment but a wage

Seek redemption
What was and never was
But another day
And a night to meditate

The essence of life,
What was and is,
To be lost and gained,
In the dimension of a dead clock


Grandma chants

With dreams afire
You give gratitude to the slayer
And the slain?
Pulling down a curtain on vengeance

And how does he live then?
If life is no place for joy,
Nor gratitude from retribution
What is this then?

The truth of the slayer?!
That he must bow at her feet,
Even when her path travels the past,
Tapes casualties of an asylum

Grandmother loves dolls,
She knits cotton puppets, 
Her children, a decree she chants,
Over her grave in their dreams

The web she weaves,
The shadow of her ghost,
A halo over their heads
The fright in his eyes


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Hands and dreams

Blood on my hands
sweat in my dreams
battling a falling eye
fright of hell’s phantoms

Guns in my hands
shots in my dreams
bleeding a deafened ear
howls of slain souls

Dirt on my hands
graves in my dreams
suffocating a broken nose
bones of rotting flesh

Nails on my hands
wounds in my dreams
scratching a plagued skin
peels of flesh beneath

And the cocaine in my hands
fantasies of my dreams
feeding a dry lip
relief of yesterday’s WAR


Black scarfs and feathered hats

the ground is a rock
but a sponge
on which I bounce,
along strings of rubber
faint elasticity
dragged between seconds
this silent planet
my lone soul

the flowers are on the grave
the whispers of the living
black scarfs
feathered hats,
the shadows of hate
standing around your halo
in black coats and long dresses
watching the fall of the sun

Their tongues hymn empathy,
but spit darts of poison
with their feigned smiles,
the scent of your soul
the blood from your heart,
clotted within their nails
so I know,
that before the next sunrise,

shall they come after me
with shinning scythes,
under a hollow moon,
like grey hounds,
their beastly nails tearing the ground beneath
to face this heart of a dark soul
blackened by rage

the monster I have become
with every breath from my lungs
the power in my blood
the fall of a star,
into an abyss of vengeance
with the sun still after a twilight
casting a shadow of death,
over their foul faces



I feel so alone
With a silent mind like a night,
But like cars along an idle highway
Sounds of resonating thoughts
Waving through a dark road

They howl,
and torment
The tranquillity of my soul
Lost on a voyage
Searching for myself

I yearn to awake,
to rays of a beautiful sun
With my woes in the shadows,
Of yesterday’s winds

Blades and roses,
Wrists and razors,
Laying inside a tab,
With a flaming candle,
Shining upon the ancient letters,
Of a divine scroll

I dig my own pit,
Yanking my own chains,
Around my neck,
Toes,and hands
To love the pain,
If its all, there’s to feel

But even so,
It was the light,
That moved away,
To blur my shadow,
With the night,
When my moon rose
But fell with her stars
The ghosts from my nightmares


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