Within life’s confinement,
where movement forms the dust.
It breathes out silence,
forgotten, shapeless, inborn thorns.
In narrow corners,
both horrors and thoughts dwell
and I am dying,
to taste and drown in their molten realm.
When all are sickened,
I fill their mouths once more.
The blood that’s thickened,
Corrodes and veils in abiding dread.
The dirt devours, -
clogs every mortal pitfall.
Procreating remnants, -
futile in their cemented void.
Let the rational machine rust.
In years it shows singular avail.
Time will be defined by the stench,
which leads one to the domain of end.
Blindly running towards the blaze,
The meaning emerges when I see decay.
Now end’s instinct revolts,
opening the sole way out.
The anguish will show:
I am meant to feel neglected life.
In my remembrance,
the place of whole and beyond,
of demise, flesh and extinct lore.