this city is a wildland of decay and nefarious voices. mystical beasts hiding in the dark. steel-cored, yet kind ghosts that never answer me back. the broken humming of a nightingale from afar. the weeping of the willow trees. the moon is a witness to the tender hollow of my chest.

she looks down at me with disdain and laughs.

she says: you war-child, be easy, make a vow out of your tragedies, turn yourself into a martyr.

the stars are faceless and asleep, but they don't let the darkness swallow me. there is water at my ankles and vipers on the ground.

i am a pile of useless, remaining cells and some surviving organs. my insides are black. my skin is grey like angel-wings.

the moon hides herself, she is elliptical and does not hear my screams.

the gods delight in the chaos, they wait for the earth to burn.

the wind murmurs a half-forgotten melody.

there is something rotten and dead inside of me.

my bones are weary and can barely withstand the weight of my body.

like a fever dream, the blistering sun awakens and stretches himself out along the early morning skies. his eyes speak hatred. he sneers with glorious indifference. eyes of fire.

it's morning, but i still have nightmares of dead bodies being thrown in the river.

the anger of a lioness. mouthful of blood. my skin turns into rose petals.

the monster in the sky is hollow and hungry.

i clean my wounds with salt. no angels will save me now.

there are waterlilies in the lake.

i say yes, i say, please.

outrageously bright, treacherous sun.

my body as a torch.

my body as a grenade.

my body as a deadly sin.