I had a dream,
I was orbiting a dead sun
absconding,
but my cult was more alive than ever.
In my plutonium violence
I did what had to be done
to become superior to myself.
They only found that
I am the worlds last living puzzle,
mathematic and arhytmic.
But I exploded
and the coming attraction
was the hunt of my own bones.
They shouted at me:
Godspeed, Mr. Marius Cristian,
Godspeed.
So I ran through.
Perfection
through perversion.
My blood chanted:
Adios!
to the claws of the world.
Now,
in the afterliving,
I am subject to larvaetion.
Strange and sleeping,
I am again,
the pain of my unbecoming.
Me,
the idiot,
the family,
the kingdom.
The written piece of paper.
Circle no red line when you kiss me.
I hate it.
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