DEPRESSION AND DEATH...

Prisoner of Myself

The blurry vision brightens in the obscured room
The old curtains sway in the wind and
Once again I'm stuck to my body

I look in the corner an object that fascinates me.
The old ceremonial knife, since long forgotten,
That in his glory days ripped apart many lambs
In the name of a god who never knew
The follies and inventions of his own servants

His handle made of bones adorned in gold has lost its luster
Looks more like a sculpture in wood and stone
And its magnificence days of sacrifice
Is now restricted to a paltry decorative object
Poor relic abandoned by his priests

I caught the object in my hands feeling his weight,
The weight of the metal merge with the weight of its sins.
The tufted handle, already worn with cracks, contrasts with
Her manicured blade that still keeps the cold cut
I touch it with my fingers, feeling his cutting edge

Casually I slip the forefinger in the blade
From tip to the edge a red vein runs down the blade
The joy of the object can be seen in its dangerous brightness
The blood runs down dripping on the carpet
The pain didin't even bother me, the allure was far too great

The temptation increases every second, the damn object calls for blood
I taste the bitter taste of my own blood that runs down the knife
An acrid taste comes to my throat and the knife asks for more
A deep cut on my wrist does not satisfy the desire
Then I do another, and another, and another ...

The carpet is soggy in red and exudes a metallic smell
That added to my confinement causing me nauseas
A buzz hurts my ears and the taste of gall ascends in my throat
The dizziness forces me to sit down in the old armchair
The vision becomes darkened and nothing more I see

The blurry vision brightens in the obscured room
The old curtains sway in the wind and
Once again I'm stuck to my body

The object rests on my lap, nothing happened
Like an endless nightmare I see my reflection in the knife,
I am still a prisoner.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hc16Y9fiCvQ