• Boom.
    Boom.
    Boom.

    Black thunder blasting through my soul
    Like bass beats resonating in my body,
    Causing akward vibrations in my bones
    As my heart pumps fire in syncronization
    With the black thunderclaps in my personal sky.

    I never knew flames could be so cold.

    Rising sparks bestow life unto my being,
    The ashes create a second shadow,
    Rendering my third eye blind as I
    Grope through the air,
    Exhaling shattered glass-dreams and
    Inhaling half the meaning of life.

    There is nothing left to understand
    When your pen is the prison,
    Your paper the barred door with a thousand locks,
    And your words are keys,
    But only a thousand of them fit the locks.

    I attempt to get to the other side,
    But my prison bars are made of iron butterflies.
    They fly into my stomach
    As soon as I dare to ponder escape.
    So I am left clutching my intestines
    As if I could stop the insects
    From tearing up my hope.

    I finally reach my destination kneeling,
    Ink-blood dripping from gashes in my ambiguity.
    Coughing poetry into graffiti-splashes air,
    I make the statement that I died for,
    Hope burning steady and strong in the midst of cold fire,
    And now others can burn with me.