Growing inside like a fast sweeping cyclone of destruction, comes the certainty of unforgiven faith in delusion. Deception.
Even in the crossed hot lake, the ice keeps away the liquid that should run into our flesh, and lasts. A glacier of memories filled with the dreams of a burning sun.
Hot skin. Pure white. Marble. Porcelain from the finest grain. Marked in red of touch at first sight. Made from the exotic south, almost untrue. The most beautiful piece of contrasts the earth can give man reason to breed and admire. A piece of white magic.
Spinning visions made books of silence in the timeless synapses of a desperate mind. A soulless man. A dreamer that forgives with penalty. Judgment. Truth. Truth. Truth. In a year or two.
The fear of not having fear and knowing that, when he faces death and air.
Commitment, the forgotten word of humanity. The unequal relation between the eternal dance of moon and sun in the sky of our painted song. The loop that resides in the rotten flesh, following the distance at large.
Circling in the sky, waiting to eat the remains left by wolfs, and lions, bears, tigers that dance around a mystical fire of blood and laugh. An eye still sees.
Maybe forever, maybe never, maybe the true is only to try. For now I know, that I am here only to cry.
For me.

Because the doubt remains in who takes care of who.

the MONSTRUKTOR lives life learning, and most of the times, how to die