Phylthia

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rain is falling gently. drop by drop. washing the skin correctly. flowing like brilliant perls down the face. the lips - washed out. the nose - washed away. the eyes - clear like a reflecting puddle. the soul - drifted away. there is nothing left. except of a deep black wound between feeling and sense. a creature - brought to trial. the empty involucre of a displaced spirit. stay ho(h)ly. "Our words are dead until our blood awakes them. Pictures of hell. They are running so quietly. And everytime think about this: Keep away from the yellow line." Der Wind treibt dich, den sanften Blütenregen, vor meine Tür. Den Kopf an der Schwelle geschlagen, verblutest du sanft. Deine glühenden Augen funkeln wie feurige, dunkle Steine. Die Züge einer perfektionierten Gestalt bleiben schmierig zu meinen Füßen. Gestrandet.