Face to My Demons

At the cradle of my nightmares, My future is a horror film, I track my ghosts, Like a junkie in withdrawal. I am a true clandestine calamity, A mass grave of silent suffering, A candelabra of pain soothed by dirty money, I hate the human race, And I will never have a pet. I am a loner addicted to silence. I only write in the dark, to deathly sounds. A mix of gloomy feelings, I walk in the darkness of my imperfections, My hands are no longer innocent, Since I’ve handled weapons of war. I am a child of the slums of the third world, I know perfectly the orifices of misery. Another damn sleepless night spent monologuing in the darkness of this cold room, The devil covers his ears to the atrocities spilling from my confessions. I’ve already used gunpowder For a firework on the edge of legality. I never agreed to sleep on an empty stomach, I’ve risked my freedom since I was ten. I’ve learned to walk among hungry beasts. I’m already at war with my demons, I know I’ll end up in the flames. I know I have no right to trust a human being, Being a slave to shine is impossible. My enemies squat in my imperfect flesh. I don’t smoke crack, I don’t smoke cannabis, I don’t snort cocaine, I don’t drink alcohol, I sometimes burn a few cigarettes. I avoid psychotropics, I’m not a poet, Just a tormented mind, Prisoner of infernal loops, Where murder scenes repeat endlessly. My tears stopped flowing down my cheeks Since I saw my friend crushed by a logging truck. I am an angry man with murderous impulses, I commit suicide each time in this same nightmare that has repeated since my childhood. I’m approaching fifty, I’ve stopped meditating on the whims of the reaper, I’ve stopped wandering in graveyards. Let the universal force show mercy on my impure, tainted soul By the poisons of lust, I accumulate transgressions to have a throne in the furnaces of hell. I don’t believe in paradise, but I know I’ll burn in the abyss’s celestial flames after my twilight. A deep philosophical reflection in the ramblings of my delirium. I hate the spotlights like those criminals on the run, Too many regrets hidden in the closets, A clean criminal record like the entrails of Christ’s mother. I blaspheme to darken my divine fragment.