I will dream like wolfs astray,
in worlds made for the silent lambs.
Conform, in fit with holy scams,
I stood no chance as willing prey;
too scared of truth to dare the fray.

I go to bed with snakes and shame,
with forked belief, Uroborus;
’till deadly my own vice arose –
and now, awake, the beast lays claim
to set my world of peace aflame.

It rips apart my view of Me.
As snake bites tail, and wolf claws deep,
I drop the rotting skin of sheep,
the mask of fake and unity,
Real is all I seek to be.

Did too far my dream has led?
My very soul assumes no more …
I watch the life, that I once wore,
and wished I’d feel at all, but dead,
as air is filling full regret.

I’m choking on enlightenment.
Reallities, they sufficate –
and None means All before my fate,
here, where all my time is spent.
There, where death and I ascent …

I’ve dreamt as lamb of the mundane,
the empty shells, the herds of skin.
In dreams I gave myself to sin,
and wished I could just once regain,
what stirrs behind my hope; in vain.