This Space of Violence
This space becomes a pressing malice
to which death rapes the beautiful girls
into submissive screaming.
There can’t be a breath of fresh pain
to suffocate this kindness.
Because life begins to die
as soon as the breathing stops.
I fume in the burning rage of salient slicing to which gages the envy.
Hate keeps the blood from staining my clothes because my clothes are my nakedness.
I feel not a pin prick in this gash that is my perversion .
Numbness cuts this distaste against this wall of bloody suicide.
So now my end is the beginning
for nothing in my words describes
the space of violence in my head.
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