Self destruction in pure forms
A bouquet of addictions to bring you earlier to grave
Brought to you officially by you
With a festive mood of sorts

The social routine of organising chaos and destroying personality keeps on like a rock Rollin down a mountain unaffected by technology or anything you are proud of having living nowadays

Self reveal in prophesies left out from holy books

Gather the ashes of burned forests
Gather the last pieces of ice
And what's left from you
For you

Your heart is beating  slower and slower
And your ordinary way of stealing oxygen with eyes stuck in the line of horizons ,
Seems too empty even for the emptiness of your existence

Maybe it's insomnia
Maybe you had too much alcohol in the party
Maybe it's because a pigeon died outside your door earlier this morning

You feel the weight of your body
You dance across the hall
Ignorant in your bliss
Still unable to see the hands of the puppeteer
The hands always feeding you
The bread of yesterday
With exchange of your dreams of an "impossible" tomorrow

And here you stand
Killing yourself
Letting your spirit decay before the body
One thousand and one quick merciful deaths later
Pavlov fixed your bell
You paid Rene to fix your mirror

You asked for a card
And it was written
La trahison des images
Buy our mirrors
Wide variety and affordable prices
Delivery at your place
Telephone....

You kept the card just in case