Body of blood returning a desert,
and those who were wandereres who never returned:
I walked so slow when this empty earth ended
and begged on my knees before her rivers,
across her blaze of pain imagined;
the corpse inside her died outside,
collapsing in struggle.
The sand in my lungs
and the scars in my feet,
symbols of walking through this holy desert.
I feel my eyes empty as I cry,
raping me at night,
and strangling me in my daydreams
to the last drop of semen.
I felt so touched by the filth in my stomach
and my body shook with some akward strength,
her endless force of flaming desire
possesed my thoughts and strained my veins.
The lust of happening
and the fear of shapening,
the hands of hate are holding my days.
They´ve reached my soul and
they´ve ripped my bones to the marrow,
Drained my soul
to the last drop,
creating an empty soul.