Poezja

Stay away from the main road 
Subhumans are coming. 
Face of black spiders, long arms 
creeping, hopping. 
 
The green blood and burning sticks; 
gateway to moon 
sun decides to vanish. 
 
Confronting the flesh makes you clenched snake, 
lymphocytes start crowding 
death was drawing near. 
 
A fawn wanders without mother 
pink eyes, trotting on grass, 
syndicated trackers are circling. 
 
End or means? What you choose, 
will decide the future of man. 
Let the flame become nameless. 
 
A cupped beak and hairy thighs 
climb on the rock 
to squander the seeds. 
 
Clouds are gathering at distance 
I may not wait for the rain. 
I am going to swallow the pill.