his everyday job.
pieces of him drip like the paint,
but tear like paint.
a regular scar sticker, atached to his skin,
the pain was propagated like a saint.
did he let his mother frying in her pan of serenity?
or did she wait for the fat lady...
to sing her anthem of "life obtained?"
he grew more vicious, this monster,
taking and taking from your reign.
anger and possesion, was locked in his name.
he drew fire bolts from his pockets,
and colored both, his sunken eyes,
took away his rubber mask
and opened the flesh drawers in his skin.
he put away his skin.
the poetry seller got rid of his God,
he threw him on the streets,
to beg for the humankind...
and lacked was his kingdom,
rejection was his only survivor.