Overcuming The Whore Of Hate


beneath me an abyss stinking of darkness 
full of days extorted from memory 
full of days that can't be born for me 
at least alive 

i behold 
i deceive myself 
maybe it's not inside 

(maybe) anger of mine or at least my mediocrity 
restrained thick air within nostrils of mine 

so well that its claws could not reach further 
so well that if not heart at least mind 
is still able to choose 

now im almost certain of it 
certain of advantage 

i am able to accept even those all lost days 
mysterious hours, which i cannot count 
to rejoice that im able to assemble 
all the pieces of broken mirror 
and not to remember all pictures it holds 
and not to remember words 
which poured out of me 
like a pus... 

who am i able to become 
if deep wounds made by nails 
most likely made by madly clenched fists 
are able to be seen upon my hands? 
and arms and neck are decorated by 
jewelry of crust 
taking particular forms 
not because of accident?

Zdroj: http://zpevnik.wz.cz