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.