Lift The Death's Veil

Questioning yourself― 
like a Spanish Inquisition. 
Ruthlessly digging out, 
the anatomy of arrogance. 

No flavor. I speak 
to myself of atypical 
intolerance of a man in revolt. 

The slavery of tongue will not go. 

On the verge, the other 
thought collapses. No longer 
the heritage remains faithful. 

Love suddenly becomes 
stranger. You won't touch 
yourself. The narcissism becomes suicidal. 

The black song 
empties the mind. You want to weave, 
but air does not become green. 

I stand alone. The cosmos 
moves away.