Descent

Then I fall and stumble
and I get back on my feet
as if things had wings
and support me in the air
and the lungs were so full
that I could no longer breathe.

A scream runs through the veins
and takes the ghosts with him
to the open gates of hell,
where the many-headed dog awaits his pay.

All my skin trembles under the itching
of unknown desires left on the floor
or floating in gusts of wind.

Discontented, distraught and obscure
my blood spills
on the foreheads of inhuman animals
that populate the paradisiacal garden.

Clots, scabs, redness
in all the folds of a body
eaten by its vicissitudes...
 
So I fall to my knees at your feet,
dry and thirsty for your fingertips.