Has muerto. Y tal como lo predijo aquel padre antes de que le volaras los cesos después de orinarte en su Biblia. Irías directo al infierno. Encadenado a un poste hirviente, con pequeños demonios que lucen como bebes destazados, que te arrancan la piel a mordidas y extraen tus vísceras. Te ríes y les escupes al igual que al padre. Te sueltan y trituran tus restos, vuelven a ensamblar tu cuerpo y nuevamente lo trituran. No es doloroso, es como beber sangría en el parque junto a unos ancianos que solo consumen tu oxígeno. Quizá el peor castigo que podrían darte seria regresarte a tu putrefacta vida.

Far from reality

There’s a dream that I love
Watching your beauty as you walk towards me
Drinking wine and enjoying the night
So glamorous
So nice
Watching you carefully
Trying to touch you
Trying to kiss you
Trying to feel you
But this dream
is trimmed every morning
With the cold and pain of my bones
So rotten
So miserable
So cheap
Just dreaming with you

Hunter

This is the end
Where I seek the bastards in the ground
Running to save their lives
I come towards them to rip their heads
Pain and misery are my own food
Running at the moon light
Looking for shelter
Bleeding to death
As I come as a merciful “God”
Until I hunt them and fed my hunger

Puke

We are slaves in a trade market
Serving the so called fucking “Lords”
Working for survival
Living in dumps
Never able to buy our freedom
There’s no sort of empathy in humans
Supremacy among groups
Slaying our specie
We glorify their shit
While they vomit over us

Looking at the mirror

Disgusted and shred of myself. Looking at my face and feeling pity of myself. Another useless creation I can see. My body vanishes, but my disgust never disappears. Wishing for things that will never come true. Sitting un my own filth. Scratching my face and blowing my memory away to forget my existence. To be a death-living specie.