A sketch of a room with blue walls… Light seeping into my chest from a wooden painting… The cage of my soul shines in the strange shadow of the drawers. Glitter adorns my hands. Rain sounds, the Gothic cavalry filling my brain.

“Six scars in six days” Samel, the scariest cat in history (This is the insect cocoon of my mind that is clouded by reality/walking towards transparency) is before t in my eyes.

“Samel” must have jumped out of a fortune-telling book. Shapes dazzled in the coffee grounds.

The old wizard whose nails were growing continuously, took “him” out of a Gothic painting. Dream analysis in the dark shadow of the emperor’s feathers/Freud masked/Napoleon faced/fly tailed.

Half god/Half human…

I created hollow buildings in the corridors of my dreams. I gave birth to mirrors. A flawless body crawled into my throat. Colors flew from my lips. My painful process considered itself an idol.

I carried my motherly and wild flaws with fish bowls on ships. One morning (The moon is in my window, a field of fairy tales/fog wind) history smeared it with morphine. In my tower (I found my body sleeping/lifeless among the rocks for a hundred years) Samel was a one-eyed city in the middle of my forehead.

Azrael lent me his wings. I looked for him at the bottom of the world, on an ice planet extending to the center. The underground monsters chased me away from seven doors. Dante’s Hell locked the door.

I’M-SEPARATING….

“I am the prophet cat of the Pharaoh.” “He” said. He stuck his wisdom to my pieces. Then he threw up Nefertiti in my veins. My creative process suited me. It was slow and meteor-like (Opposite rupture

delusion)

There is no place left to hide. There is no place to hide!

They will find us Lena. He watches you, them, everyone in the prism of my forehead. He imitates my memory, my hands. Most of all my eyes and my voice. He reads all the destinies/The sufferings and sorrows/Prayer oaths. The secret book is a giant dragon in candles/The great mammoth.

 

Samel is sitting on his throne. Under the naked light bulbs he forgives my body. My limbs are a prophetic hurricane in metamorphosis. The blood rushing to my patched organs, nailing

my feet!

My dark guide, he considers me a Messiah. Oh, Lena, I’m afraid, save me! Human corpses are wandering the streets…