the frenzy or ours to perish,
that gloomy craving we have before the mirror,
when nothing but the pitch black void returns with its gaze,
with basins full of larvae,
and our silhouette just an empty putrid carcass,
resting still, dumb in the funeral,
with pupils reflecting silence and solitude...

our love,
almost an obsession we crave to recreate our wounds,
sores where pain frolics and pricks,
pressing our entrails and our hearts,
until we drown in a deep sea of suffocation..

the nostalgia, in which we strangely attach ourselves,
to the incessant drizzle of tears,
we embrace anguish and agonize,
while we make our lives a broken grave among a trail of gravestones,
where we sign for each of our mornings an epitaph to every breath we take...

the ritual of fatal delirium,
in which we pass away again and again and again,
without rest and with the soul in severe pain,
we ramble about looking for someone to help us,
we imagine angels made of stone,
using the marble of our withered cemeteries,
bring to us your icy fingers,
its icy touch, to help us stop succumbing,
to the hunger of burying ourselves in our loneliness,
in our most sacred fears,
screams we never pronounce and that like us,
lay drowned...

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Copyright 2020 LIFEINVADER
Published on Saturday, July 18, 2020.     Filed under: "Love" and "Poetry"
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