Medeia. The Unseen. Zeneszám

My dogma
A trait of this war
Leads to an endless oblivion
I can't see beyond this fixation
As it gouged my eyes out

I'll fall
But never hit the ground

Abolishing gazes surround me for I am not atoned

Pranayma
Now help me breathe
Gasp the last bites of air from this cellar
My lungs constricted by anticipation
As I prepare to enter the other side


I'll fall
But never hit the ground
I fall
But never hit the ground

Constellations disappeared through suffocation
Air vanished through the hole
Let to rot eternally in dimensions beyond unreal
Hell is around the corner
And already here

This is the autobiography of a murderer