Poetry

I,
the creator of my own heaven and hell
possess the knowledge decent and evil,
 
Creator of the harmony and destruction
of myself to distinguish the existence of passion,-
 
_to sense the everlasting greed of pleasure
and to apprehend the thought of devour.
 


I,
the destroyer of my own deceptions
to breed novel bridges to endless inceptions-
 
_to travel the disgusted burnings of hell in me
I reconstruct of which I perished so many-
 


I,
the prospector, in heaven, of my own grave,
 infect, I, with an unbreakable will to be not a slave.
 
-Nr.