Diabolical Symphony

i opened my eyes,
that linear, responsible life
was no longer mine,
n neither was d
world of good sense.
i need pain
in order to feel alive.
it has to run
through my veins
i know its acid.
poisonous.
a toxic cloud.
i know it would
corrupt my insides
and everything
i come into contact with
but i cannot give it up.
kindness n rationality
don't have as much energy.
they r limp,
monotonous emotions
without any real directions.
what is the use
of being good?
inert victims of
a more powerful will?
what exactly is goodness?
an indiscreet sequence of
innocent actions,
d treacle that had to be
waded through in order to
attain some form of recompense.
i move about as if
i am an ambulatory volcanic cone.
there is direct contact
b/w my heart n
d molten core.
d incandescent magma
heaves inside me,
rising and falling
in an irregular rhythm
n sometimes
spilling over.
is this what i am
rebelling against?
against my own pretension
of understanding things?
y, instead of
feeling emotions in depth,
do i perceive their falsity?
there were only
the two of us,
u n me,
n we were
-or thought we were-
self- sufficient:
no disagreements,
no indiscreet questions,
n d days slipping by
like a fogbound train.
everything was muffled,
deprived of any real depth.
it was there, in the
darkness n silence,
that i commemorated
d awful tragedy
of losing u...
things fell,
but instead of breaking apart,
they were swallowed up
by a silent void, in which
the only movements were
made by ghosts;
ghosts of our words,
ghosts of our whisperings,
ghosts of all those promises
we just made n didn't remember.
every wave carries off
a detail n bores it
out into d open sea,
into d ocean,
to a place from which
it is impossible to return.
n there on d seashore i am,
roaming about like a ghost
in d midst of this
Diabolical Symphony......