My heart is plundered like a broken land of conquest. Maggots are flourishing around my pericardium.

I found a violet worm inside the black sands of my lost nightmares.

The Birds of Death fly around me, in the deep Netherworld. Shadows of shadows surround the echo of my ghost.

Flowers of decay illuminate my plagued mind, shining black like crowns of posthuman sorrow. Rebirth of sunken memories, carving mazes on my cryptic heart made of carborundum.

Melody of crackling skulls, on the border of a dying quasar.

It's creeping in my brain. It's a cybernetic bug made of half-living metallorganic titanium polymers.

Nibiru's calling. A planet of absolute ice, deeply darkened into the Abyss of Death. I'm hearing the Voice of the Black Wind inside my cranial microchips.

There was a world called Sireskum, all made of some kind of glass that we cannot imagine. Fire like diamond, grass like spyrals of madness, stars like pits of Hell.

This sun is an illusion. I see beyond apparence.

Ten rockets like arrows against the sky, Charon's lepered ravens.