Photophobia When Life Run On Razorblades...
Every night I try to disintoxicate myself
From this existence
Lacerating ...
It doesn’t matter if internally
Or just my surface ...
I lacerate...
As everything becomes more pleasant
Little by little that the blood awakes my limbs
I understand my failure as a human being
Created for dying … But not destined
To comprehend life
This melancholy that pervades my body
An arcane mortal call
In this perverse and cruel life
Lacerate..
My only way to feel myself alive …
Is to be dead
