I will cut myself to pieces,
        each and every morning;
        and if the light of day ceases
        without enough burning
        to cauterize my wounds,
I will rearrange them myself:
        A new boogeyman
        and Dr. Frankenstein;
I will laugh myself to sleep,
I will fasten my chain,
        and prepare to repeat,
        all over again,
        tomorrow.


I will be
        between a thundering strike
               and a breath of life.


I will not resent the cruelty,
        but foster it, savagely;
I will grow it inside,
        let it be my guide;
I will volunteer my organs here and there,
        then create new ones out of thin air;
I will be a butcher and a shaman,
I will maunder like a madman;
I will chase the wrong path,
I will make my own math;
I will no longer be,
        however devir,
        who I am
        tomorrow.