Again I stare without really being able to -illusions
The verity terrifies the dreams, the lies I deify In despair I fail to understand whether the dreams create the scruples or the other way around
As the eyes begin to sting I am swallowed by an abstract state The spirit of indifference is here
Apathetic, searching The sorrow feels preposterous within this psychotic chaos The will smoothers the spew from the past
Weakened I dry out the faith and then kiss its forehead uncertain slavering
This inner depression is a sort of religious (apocalyptic) No clammy hands can alter me My God Alleviate the many distressed I firmly proclaim, Hand out the water to those who thirst.