A silent war with oneself
devouring all the cells...

It was a turf war.
The moon was booby-trapped...

With timeless words,
you glorify the puppet...

Can you contain it;
the call...

You become absent in
repose..I try to rein in the...

A streak of sin,
just as culpable...

Your body, intense?
eats the sins...

Red horizon?
had bite-marks...

A wreath of skulls
you want to hang on the wall...

Throwing the prosthesis, he jumped for
numericals, refusing to expand...

Half your young age,
violence comes in choppers...

It hurts, the abstract isolation of life
emptying of self...