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GOSPEL OF A CURSED WARRIOR
I converse with my demons.
The monologues are endless,
Dark confessions on scraps of macabre memories.
My mouth stays shut after uttering blasphemies,
I terrorize my ghosts with the darkness of my fantasies.
I stumbled before the gates of hell,
It's too late — I'll end up in Lucifer's furnaces.
The journey will be chaotic until the final breath,
No consolation, only incurable wounds in this infernal abyss.
I smile at the angel of death like those fanatics ready to die for a few virgins.
My humanity embraces all the demonic facets of its spark,
Forever at war with a legion of the damned,
A procession of curses on the highway of immortality.
A few impure souls to sacrifice on the altar of repentance,
Pharaoh's blood to cleanse my dignity,
To be a slave for the glory of my oppressors — impossible.
To brandish arms — a saving urgency.
Throw me a banana, and I'll send you straight to the doorstep of my ancestors.
I learned to handle weapons of war in a banana republic.
I'm on alert, like those sleeper agents.
Servitude and submission are forbidden.
I preach peace, justice, and harmony,
But I do not fear the horrors of chaos.
My existence traumatizes my enemies.
Copyright ©
Auguste Romain Nyecki
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