August 7, 2012 § Leave a comment

From those lies I carry in my fingers high

smoke is exhaled throughout lacerations

carry hybrid rations for its mind

traveling from body to body, side to side

smelling as bad as your mouth once tasted.


I venture to ignite my hand in its direction

towards what I see but I do not believe

punching dry, those fists of mine,

closed tight as the Pope’s secret domicile

in a wooden box made of iron melting in summertides.


Billions points of view

none shall raise an eye

Blabber apocalypse and evil minds

we already live the doom we fear

it is scalding for a reason.


The feather touches the dirty ground you pray we kiss

millions circling in desperation

with no self-respect inborn laid soul

the wealth is your paradise.


Few perceives although I see thy eyes staring at sides

squinting the flanks in which your fruits keep dry

as the cocoon in casket you once were

even if still empty you still are.


It is with no hatred I tell this tale,

the fakedox is cramped inside,

and, locked,

Fearing it is never coming out.


– Key.


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