I will cut myself to pieces,
each and every morning;
and if the light of day ceases
without enough burning
to cauterize my wounds,
I will rearrange them myself:
A new boogeyman
and Dr. Frankenstein;
I will laugh myself to sleep,
I will fasten my chain,
and prepare to repeat,
all over again,
tomorrow.
I will be
between a thundering strike
and a breath of life.
I will not resent the cruelty,
but foster it, savagely;
I will grow it inside,
let it be my guide;
I will volunteer my organs here and there,
then create new ones out of thin air;
I will be a butcher and a shaman,
I will maunder like a madman;
I will chase the wrong path,
I will make my own math;
I will no longer be,
however devir,
who I am
tomorrow.