ThIs pIeCe

This piece Gave birth to a Poem,- more like synchronized sounds of melodic chaos-
This piece is verbally chaotic…pinned on tongues that preach in strange voices,- they howl in your dreams.

This piece Gave birth to a Poet,- more like unjustified human existence in the tranches of mans caved corps-
This piece is a slaves corps… hanging amidst the poles of scrapped ballet papers scribbled-

Infidel!

It gave birth to a prose,- more finite than infinity integrated in graves of men who enlightened us about language-
This piece is muted languages languished… to form our conscious state- and thus we believe silence is consent.
And parted in two, worlds under siege I mingled, terrified, terror-blinded by my fears I linger…
The voices have started again, only now they rage in walls of faces I see, - moments freeze.
I feel I’m found again, - is this my dying day?-... this piece…

This piece Is fragmented foreshadows of what she experiences, ghosts in shapes of beasts, and man in skins of the dead…

A dose is prescribed in my name, this piece is my fame- curled up in a tide of memory flashes to flash anew born-agains’, so for I not to see what sight I’ve inherited,-
This piece…Am I going crazy?

This piece is still continuing- pacing the thought of sanity and insanity in my head- my body is in shock,- they are looking at me…. They are staring at me, I look for comfort but there seems to be none- no pillars are there to with-hold their stares,- they are mocking me, smiling for they feed on my fear.
This piece!...The world looks at me with gusty eyes, it gulps me up and spits me in betwixt territories, black smoke chokes me; this black coat of human flash molds me.

This piece Is matter, it doesn’t really matter…nothing matters now that even God has forsaken me

This piece…

I want to exit, -

exist is fabricated scripts and tainted memories,- my name shall be said by few voices and remembered by those who cared about it,-

This piece…

I shall not be remembered for long.
For…,-
This piece is of woman-Childs that see demons for who and what they are, preachers and healers that kill souls so to find peace in deaths mist, children bruited in order to so called purify greedy deadly entities.

This piece is of a spirit-child, chilled by the fear that strikes her bones for she sees beyond the darkness, beyond the laces that blind the normal eye, and when she scream in shock- faces turn to look, bloodshot eyes view in ewe, and minds go like,…

look at her,- she has gone crazy…

This piece is of spirit-borns, hunted down by spirit-lines of those who want to lure their souls and use them, kill the serenity of their purity and suck the innocence out of them so for the council of death-eaters can forever exist for so few of them exist consciously.

This piece is of you to remember that we are not alone, that beyond this world and the world of the dead lays a spirit world, that as much as the western society has eradicated the concept of “badimo” (gods) from your futile minds, still you should remember that they are here.

They are called night creepers, blood-suckers, angels of the night and soul slayers…

These pieces that we infest with pills and call crazy,-
see them, feel them, know them…

They are afraid of them, flee from them and try to hide-away from them,

These pieces are afraid of you too,-
You laugh and mock them, snare at them…

Do you see what they see, feel what they feel?
Do you get the cold shivers in your room because somebody is looking at you, waiting for you, creeping up on your spirit?
Do you hear voices calling your name, darkness filling you up, chocking you in day light.
Are you afraid of the night because you know what lies beyond the darkness and who visits when the lights are off?
Do you fear the unknowns that are real to you but not the world?
Are you called an insomniac?
Do you have paranoia?

Well…

I do…

This piece does….