Visions

Who are we? What is our purpose? We do not know, and that is what kills us. We are dying to die. But in our wake, we leave unrepairable tumors in the time-space continuum. We're breeding wastelands in apathy, consumed in flames of delirium... The devastation we produce eradicates the rare falling fragments of infinity that seldom mark the answer to our deepest questions. In fright and in fury, we amass the growing shadows in our lucidity, creating an omen of reincarnation for our fallen marionettes. We are the remnants that thirst for vengeance in the void of our amber tears...

The sweet tears of our love-thorn rhapsody form the oath, the symbol of our sleepless promise to die in sanity, like scars on the surface of the old stream of black veils concealing the absolute... Where shadows dance in the romance of our dreams, in our restless oblivion, our shroud of frost, here we are alone in the sunset of the ages. The twilight of our nocturnal emissions is a silent enigma, a dying wish of an unseen miracle, an alternative to our regret for the too deep and complex destiny that we play a role in. As we feel our forgotten hopes take their last goodbye, we seal the slot of our third eye...

Don't look too far for judgement, because you'll always find it in the moonlight. The night-sky, in which we always hunt the future, holds only the punishment of the long forgotten. No reason to panic, as the underworld has no barriers and today is a fine day to exit this putrid light that binds us. We leave no trace, as we find our outsides inside our pressure, at the last moment of our final countdown. But even death, even the brightest sunshine, is just a temporary peace of harmonic balance, as we get closer to the place where no one hears us, like in a childhood dream, falling towards the ground at two thousand meters per second like the momentum of a natural disaster. Our life force, our electric spiritual violence forever taken away, forever muted...

And I just lust, the sweetest suffering, as they die, the angels and all beloved of mankind, sentenced to an eternity of hope under a thin, transparent, suicidal veil. The radiance shines far away in the cries of the wind, as we ascend towards the kingdom with no name, where what is ours is forever theirs to drown in. We'll be some of the few that found the inner silence in this cruel world and yet beyond destiny, riding the horses of faith on the crests of human limitation, hidden in the obscure like every weightless piece of time that makes us and unmakes us in our unholy war that we deny in our cozy rooms with ocean views... The ocean of social lies and nothingness, so shiny...

Our busy bodies serve the illusion of happiness, the masked taste of pleasure, the mechanical frenzy between gentle, untouched flowers and raging beasts of pray. All we have left is the natural flow, the wave, the path between us and the tyrant horizon, forever present, forever too far. But everything's still fine as we're healing subconsciously, like rebel monstrosities, human soul-weepers, carving our way to the so called top. Say your number and the ultimate machine will find and label you, among the endless list of lost souls looking for a purpose, letting the archangels in black wrap you in your fake, relative impressions, ready to be sold to the world...

Oh, the wait has been so long... So long since the last time we felt strong. In this other world we go back in the time when angels walked among us and no one ever left. When there were no departures, where there was no distance, nor' pain of loss. Death wearing white robes smiled in kind whispers that would never come, as we were not supposed to want or fear or dream of anything. We had. We simply had the gift of blindness. But this universe is just a forgotten verse by the great unknown artist. In our world, we live the abnormal effects of our points of view, outside everything, inside nothing. Subtle, mind destructing species that teach only adoration for none and the art of dying in vain. What a sight to behold! The cemetery of screams, the empire of comas, the heaven of the shapeless. As autumn falls, we loose control and emotional hypothermia kills our superficial trust and our fragile lies no longer cover our naked soul, shivering...

We are facing the walls of truth as the cannons of rivalry shoot malevolent cancer directly into the web that mends our souls. We see enemies where there are none and seek more where there are few. We are executing each other's essence in this race for false hierarchy and the world is left without a center, spinning in chaos. We'll end up just pale flowers in exile, hollow, craving insanity and forever wandering the paradox between "live and let live" and "survival of the fittest"... Humanity... The pale beauty of the past will hide under the iron mask of the future. The sky will only be seen between the bars of the prison called "present", an overwhelming nightmare. Rain will pour on the deserted world, when all is gone, forming the dark rivers of will that WILL take the unbelieving corpses to the infernal sun, to the final burn. Fields of faceless that submitted to self-destruction are cleaved by the claws of perdition that proudly point to endless solitude, to breathes forever black, forever chocking, forever empathic with the sorrow of the undying...