In those woods I still remember the odours
The moistened bed
Where I chose to sleep
Surrounded by my own crimson liquor of existence.
I started in history.
At that moment
Only the sound of pulsations through my arms
Consolidated my seclusion.
Anesthetized by fury and desolation
I inflicted myself capital retribution.
As the leaves were coloured with my constitution
Grief and lamentations suited me with astonishing cold.
As the dark sky vanished before my eyes
Fragments of consciousness could only illustrate
Parcels of this affair.
I sadly can't restore
Every event in this respective time:
Agitated voices, strident sirens and blistering pain in both arms.