Alexander 5.0 (L'enfer)

…en el infierno de nuestra piel muerta, no me arrepiento de nada

…en el infierno de nuestro sexo devastado, echo arena sobre tu rostro

…en el infierno de nuestras hijas ausentes, escupo al rostro de dios

…en el infierno de nuestra belleza árida, humedezco mis labios con tu salvia

…rompo el molde con violencia consentida en busca de un placer que nunca volverá…las ramas son brazos lacerados en nuestra demencia…anatomía de la crueldad hacia nuestras almas que ya han sucumbido al dolor…vagan insomnes por el bosque alejadas de nuestras conchas…sin nosotros ya no brillan, sólo son espectros entregados a romperse en añicos de tristeza…

Sin ti…en tu ausencia mental, mi cuerpo se deshace y se funde con la Naturaleza marchita que nos rodea…nunca más nos entregaremos a los pecados poco originales…sólo somos capaces de realizar estériles autopsias de nuestra tortura…de nuestra pérdida…eclipsado por la seducción de las mil lenguas de las polillas tan suaves que hieren mi piel destrozada por la desesperación…

…una flor sangra sobre mis ojos ciegos ante la pasión ignorada…tu aroma ya sólo sabe a rechazo y derrota…y la navaja de mi mano se ensaña con los órganos inútiles recreando

ese infierno de piel muerta…

ese infierno de sexo devastado…

ese infierno de hijas ausentes…

ese infierno de belleza árida…

este infierno de soledad en el que nuestra cordura corre demente buscando a nuestras almas, perdidas para siempre entre amapolas y miembros cercenados…

Torture Garden

Tragedy is performed between our hands

stained by sperm and rejection

I'll emasculate my useless sex

I'll maim the god you forced to grow inside

in this room of shattered beds

and images of obsessed skin

The dead soldiers inside the bottle

got frozen in the sin-stained snow

They marched into a lost war

Courageous under Christ as a flag

Now they’re body bags to be counted

under the burning sun of the mayhem

Your tongue talks to me about shed blood

Your thighs talks to me about centuries of wetness

And I drag you with me to the torture garden:

Face on the ground, tied by chameleons

and leatherette dragonflies

The cruel reason of our existence

only yielded before the master

whom I'll kill to offer you its heart

which you’ll feed your prayers with

We are two growing up inside the freedom of three

An orgy that scrapes eternity

The dead soldiers inside the bottle

find the corruption of their soul

and rejoice in the mirage of their loneliness

They cut their hands open to stoke us

And we fall into a comfortable drowsiness

long forgotten in the nights of alcohol

Your tongue talks to me about violence and sorrow

Your thighs talks to me about the never found pleasure

And I drag you with me to the torture garden:

On your back, whipped by iguanas

And steel butterflies

A new beginning doesn’t mean anything but

a new path towards an end

Raped in the satisfaction of being you

my body renounces its own being

We walk hand in hand again

into the cruelty of our delight

“Father of all mercies and God of all consolation,
you pursue us with untiring love
and dispel the shadow of death
with the bright dawn of life”

Your tongue talks to me about executed victims

Your thighs talks to me about an infected faith

And I drag you with me to the torture garden

Hung and penetrated by my entire body:

A whip of skin and despair

I'll cry over your forehead

I'll cry over your back

I'll cry

But you’ll soothe

my pierced veins

and my solitude

(dedicata al mio cuore romano, Dio-F & Simone H, grazie ragazzo per l'ispirazione)

http://www.torturegarden.com/home/

F-Prayer

Oh Lord

Let me die alone by my own side

Oh Lord forget to forgive me

Cos I want my sins to be recalled

Let me rejoice in all my punished crimes

We’ll

We’ll break our bodies in the room with no walls

Over the sweetest whips & the sweaty teeth

We’ll

We’ll tear our thighs in the scene with no frames

Under the sharpest tongues & the gentle blood

Of our scars

Then

Then we’ll place the gun under the children’s pillow

And we’ll decorate our sex with glittering skin

Then

Then we’ll place the blade in the Holy Ghost’s hand

And we’ll walk hand in hand into the womb

Of our murder

(Let’s drink to death)

Suicidons-nous dans la joie sur les enfants

Ruisselons notre sang

Allongeons-nous sur les feuilles sèches

Sur la forêt pour observer nos corps se fondre

Et s'eteindre

Oh Lord

Allow me die by her shattered side

Oh Lord regret our divine existence

Cos we want our desire to be earthly

Let us rejoice with the pain of the nails

Notre amour comme un fantôme dans une chambre vide

Dans un motel vide

Avec les murs vides de sueur

Le long d'une autoroute vide

Quelque part

Your voice like dead wood

Spreads its roots thru my veins

And a broken child cried

Inhaling the burning flesh

Of the slaughtered lamb our union is

(I took my gun and vanished)*

low-budget film

…you are life…made of plastic…made of phosphorus… vegetable… life…bite with rage the tuber of alcohol and add substances to the throbbing vein of sea that dreams in your eyes…silence cracks under the concise gaze of the wasted time… we had lost the beat and rhythm… they were born dying… beaten them to death…and a gentle glam-rock makes up the eyes…riotous pupils with leather bridles…I see you on the floor…shapeless…in fog…the hand rises and twists in weird figures… are you aware of you pumping body?…the sea in your eyes tears me apart with anger… and I stand on my legs of fear… I sink destitute into the hurtful sound with amorphous rhymes… cum feel the noize, honey…between the rhythmical clinking of the ice and the fleshless sex of the insomniac bodies…we sip every nightly shadow moving forward with the smoke to the bittersweet light… you are life and you fill my chest with glittering silver…now that my veins don’t bleed over steel teeth yet, I see you growing up in my hand of grass… we drift wounded searching for a perfect moment…chaos lead us into the breath of the dawn while we talk absorbed about flesh and bone…embraced by the open lips floor while crossed-sex-bodies stare at our fall numb by morphine and desire…we are the dirty& shed marble but dazzling in our gleam… we have wax dahlias between our legs while fire consumes the sweat of our pores… and the city never sleeps…just gets stiff its members to allow us to cleave its arteries on lead steps… you are life… the life that’s running away from me… but when I’m by your side, it beats in my temples with the shining speed of the chaos of your eyes…

Anna Roma

(Picture taken from http://img.dailymail.co.uk)

Son las cenizas del mar las que nos nacen

en una litografía violenta de pieles y rocas,

donde un ancla muerde con rabia inversa tu vientre

y la electricidad da fe del deseo.

Sí, hay arena en nuestro peso

donde el agua de la cama se convierte en musgo

mientras los árboles laceran sus nombres

en los brazos retorcidos de los hombres

yo fui

viajero derrumbado de hoteles

yo fui

cliente vaporoso de muslos

yo fui

momento errático de esquinas

yo fui

suspiro acabado de ti

…e giù nella hall, nella realtà sonnolenta, le ombre strisciano vacillanti verso un futuro assurdo nelle strade di Roma…hanno desiderato avere la loro propria stagione nella città, conoscendo la gloria dell' assurdo… Le loro giacche di pelle lucida aderiscono appiccicose alla loro carcassa... sono soltanto lische di aggettivi che percorrono la loro assenza di tempo… Tracciandosi come punti quasi-latenti attaccati ai muri di gallerie ...sono i free-lance della vita, intermittenti nella loro coscienza, invitati alla comunione effímera del cucchiaio, nel riposo accettato del suicidio monotono …mi allontano da loro…si allontanano da me..............c'è ancora tempo di diventare io

Hay un nuevo amanecer en nuestra iluminación:

Bogamos salvajes como niños del nuevo milenio,

transformados en hierba y mercurio;*

A veces

plácidas sábanas de nuestro verano

A veces

líquidos,

fríos,

eléctricos,

siempre testigos de la vigilia de piedra

amando las calles de esta ciudad sin tiempo.

Son tallos invertidos los nervios como dedos

que marcan el ritmo en nuestros pechos heridos.

Hay tiempo todavía,

todavía hay tiempo

para esculpir las raíces que modelan los actos

para arengar al sudor de la tribu

para aceptar el pensamiento convulso

para drenar la última gota.

Soy Yo,

suspiro nacido en ti

* Tomado de “Omega” de F.G.L.