...and he tastes the normality such as an herbal tea in a wintry night.
The soffused crackling of the wood in the chimney is the frame of the rest of the limbs and the mind runs between the flowery lawns at the aim of the spring.
It's like a whirl in the silence of a thawy sky between normality and schizophreny.
Sunrices and sunsets follow one another in the antechamber of his existence: an infinite limbo painted of memories and lies.
By means of other memories he has created his veiled universe and in the fluidity of venous blood insticts fade in a cage of appearance.
Inept to live, smashed from society!
Piercing pains at the stomach brand his monotone days living in the obscurity of the raped shadows, lost souls in eternal torment.
Hears the screams of thousands of broken lifes, smashed dreams of human passions.
His anger is the grotesque drawing of a disturbed mind and the plasure of kill is an ephemeral moment, short as an intense orgasm.
The twilight approachs, the light leave again the set to the frost.
The hunger come back insatiable and the instict peeps in the mouth of the stomach: it'a arrived the "time"...once more!