To nothing certain


From the pit of my dreams

In the inwardness
of beast in a pinnacle
in the moonlight upside down night.
It howls at dawn and to and fro
across the soil they speede
drum and the wolves neurasthenic thump thump…
a death agony interval
so you out, you dark unexplained
a moribund millipede in extremis
of all creation from the darkness

Come out, El, Eloah, Elohai
grimacing dark laugh the Enchantress’ lit
under the hanging boiled Jason’s tail
Osii, Osia, Osii
dive out of
painted – with serpents – with painted
with acrobata wonderfully grasshopper
balanced upon the pit of unmentionable

Back from the chill abysses home to the old home
full of sweetness
Before my mirror, in silken mists
down my flanks, awaiting in the insane circles
the more than somber a terrifying monster
and masked one, hovering
the taiga of tartaria
looming antipodal Macropodidae
the downward roo when panting with that nimbus
of hellish flames, vicious, reversed
alas, there end

Ten courts of hell
ten Yama kings
in a pool of filthy blood
brooding over bestia in the flare of fire
is it but reddish drawn aqueous shades
grotesquely unseen, unlamented
a red bright in the horror tilted dark,

The effortful attack of the apparition, either bored
or mad, softly, vast beast…
the effortful scortched pale virginal you
upon the red roses opened unmysteries
Queer is. Sheer it is. Defiant Damocles
belted with the vast shadows sword
vexed with sardonic stare prick
of black ink somnambulist soundless scream
supplies me with flambeaux whisper:

“I’m lonely.  I’m lonely. I am so lonely. Lonely am I.
gone is a dreadful deed that looks like grave and
sounds like bird
sounds like the growls of lions in their wrath
sounds like…
cageless flowers behind the doomed shores
of Circe’s realm with killing smile
the oblong virtue to the beast’s visage
in the dead of the night
or knives and daggers on revolving feet
the heavenless hell honeycake to departure
I mutter, I haunt, I persecute, I knit,
the gasping chaos
taught by cool flutes lingering grace
I moan, I harp, I pipe away
And rise into ether, gather in mist
enraptured flowers, stitch the ear in a short wicked candle
Tear from the fabric the threads of incorruptible”

Immortal creature secluded in the night
forever cursed, lost with their pre  – world loneliness

Left to whisper:
lonely lonely through a circle
left to weep for a cups of death
in much statically angry madness
left to strong one-pierced silence through moaned space
time reaps death’s blade sleep
with poor cuss
left to dwell in the infamy of despair
as in the sharp blood,
o hideous night, bold in advancing
Fragile splendor intense
to the blast of a frightful scream upon awful lips

A sense of mystery untouched by the dripping hand
dabbled with blood, the phantom smiles bloodily
and stains toes to heels, bless you, freedom
We rise to give

to nothing certain

The Existence Of Reality




The guillotine would have fallen,

But for rusting cloying chains, 

Another patron complained,

That his head still remained,

Atop shoulders of existential dread.

Others amongst the rabble more fortuitous; 

“The lucky reduction of torment.”

(from an unknown author, exasperated, vexed, perplexed).

The crowd cries for her crucifixion,

“Disappear” they jeer!

A woman who’s not here,

(head falls into the basket, the audience cheers).


I am huddled in my bed,

Covered toe-to-head,

In emerald ash borer beetles of psyche keeps me company.

Pollution profanation, omnipresent,

Aqua sodden douse, bedraggled universal,

Psychotic scorpion flies erupting ubiquitously,

The material reduction deluge inescapable.


Divinity, hear me (says another poet):

I surrender essence to amaurotic amore ecstasy,

To abet fiendish fell experiments on sapiens,

To be your fourth Anti-Christ!

“What do you want?” sighs the daemon.

Hail sweet malice!

These foul malignant mortals need eternal silencing in pyre!

There are flickering color-storms remote from my tormented sights,

The head rises once more,

The skull also ascends.

For now in the gloaming unlight, I am going mad, by blessing of the cataclysmic midnight. …Bollocks.

Unsought objectionable, 

Undesired detestable, 

Unwelcome unworthy, 

Rejected dejected, 

Shun spurned, bitch-slapped and friendless.

With heart alone and solus, I cared not.

Now has begun my transition!

You’ll find pleasure through tribulations,

In shudder burning water rat-a-tat, stately in flames.

We are the womb, we are the abyss, 

We are the tomb, we are exhumed,

We are the vault, torch lit,

We are the crematorium, pyre pit,

We are the womb, we are the abyss,

We are the mausoleum, crypt kissed.

I submit my ethereal dream divine;

Of a destitute penury district,

I tender the beggar’s beautiful equipment;

Ragged white tights with black polka dots,

One solitary garbage bag, and a lonesome money can.

I offer you the saint who lived as a beggar,

Vagabonds solemnise humanity spitting on mankind,

Commodity and chattels, filthy rags of vagrants maligned.


O Nature, made of mercury,

Eternal enigmatic, aloof abstruse, arcane unfathomable.

You are clement, you are brumal, you are arid, you are sultry…

Whose end…is God.

Vomiting, retched out slimy bodies from my voice box,

Grim re-echoes in the dark,

Holding failed wigs in despondent hands,

And the humored rats whose presence is forgotten.

For the corpses do not die,

For the damned do not die,

For they do not die, from The Iliad to Civid19…


Am I not also corpsed stillness for your eternal mortuary arts?!


I am huddled in my sarcophagus soliloquy,

Sheets stand upright,

Suffused with semen, pullulate and sprout,

Spread to muscles devout,

Tissue, blush, luxurious cheek,

Oculi’s a glow in the din!

Hands traverse the glacial keening gale,

Bellend, I, wandered worlds and clapped my hands.

Only whispers, then wheezing, then wailing, then sobbing, then shrieking…

Then the dogs begin to howl…

This fell monstrosity everlasting,

This abhorrence is undying,

This vulgarity villain is eternal!

Carry me.

Carry me whither to, the existence of reality.

(grave bursting)

Schizophrenic brother in need

Never again alone we bleed.

Photo Credit:

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The Merry Christmas to the Invisible Man

Author’s note: You are reading this poem at your own peril.

The gongs produce outlandish sounds
which are yet to inundate each other and,
in the end, every vibration forms
a single steely blow making the bony lobes
of the skeletons’ former ears bleed for a moment.

A spectral voice speaking a human tongue
booms anon exhibiting adjacency,
unlike the remote effects of the gong.
the voice is an authoritative and shadowy bass.

The Bethlehem’s star, starry night candle
whose care breathed in drops below
Canaan Fir, a large belly Ho-Ho-Ho
if invisible

The mistletoe, the woodman
with wood notes at Eve
In humble guise, they came this night,
the cries of Bethlehem…

And says screams creeps far into
the Christmas tree, of gathering gloom.
the Druids’ cure-all mistletoes
silver tinsel shimmering white

Cut out sleigh bells from the stone-cold tomb.
then meet church bells
at the top of bleeding almond-eyed tree,
together with a loop of lily-white, ribbon.

And filled it with holy light, you, Myrrh,
dance, evoke my dancing skeletons
as pond is frozen, as the music rose with
notes shine out a-far,
frosty Carol is making her moans,

(unfolding ghosts into oblivion
akin to an Unfinished Fantasy -):

a throng of underground hallways,
secret passages and catacombs –
one branch of which leads into the Purgatory,
the other into the Painter’s Assembly

my marigolds, my wounds
and parlour made of clarigolds.

Knock knock!
who is it
Invisible man
if invisible

And then I subside into a pensive state,
while Santa watches me furtively.

I asked myself what keeps the people warm
under this gale which caresses the skin
as gently as a skeletal hand would,
eternally un-warm, the icy liberators
of the esophagus.

Confused and pondering,
exactly like a man whose wife had just
spontaneously combusted before his eyes,
I was trudging along the street covered in snow.

I was singing:

Peace to the blackly squats,
peace to fear in the night,
for that mad mistletoes housed an abbot from the graves
in the cheerful blessing night

Penny Dreadful

“I tried to pray that night and God didn’t answer
me, but another did.”

Rabisu demon lurking menacing at doors,
desert anguishes and roads of bone,
At bittered ends and vicious roaming form, in
the dust reeking reborn.
Pouncing lurid predator vampirically, sardonic
seizers in scorn,
And whispers: “I’m fascinated by your wicked
and lucid appetite for your own useless life.”

In lament from fluttering sent, leaps from
window eyed portals denied me,
And whispers: “Oh no, I will bare no escape
from existences framed refrain,
I choose you, beautifully lined face with
loneliness, losses and clutched crosses.”

I am placing maliciousness monsters in the
pillory, reaching hangman rivalry,
Oracle with filled eyes of abhorrent horrors, vile
villainy, disgusting revelry.
Malice madness in theatrics, harbouring hunts
of hauntedness in the gothicness.
My Morrigain, my Mora demoness of dark war
and warrior corpses,
She susurrous’s doom and washes the bloody
cloaks of the fallen soon,

My one way love affair with fated despair.

Cain in crestfallen, commits unforgivable sin
against spirit,
The demons converging, surrounding and
The innocent blood screams vengeance from
the ground purging.

Corpses long dead roar excavations
Incantations transfiguring graves,
Fierce golden reigns irony remains.
Nightmares veins surreal tentacles, tear tense
dreams from tight eyelids,
Fang drip foul viles in gnashing violence,
The grand bizarre at the feverished abhorrence
The glassy eyed emptiness of brumal freak
I smell like sleepwalking, staggering, pale sober disheveled,
The freedom of hurtling heights bridge jumping
Running wild like thrown matches at gasoline.

The beauty of illusion bleeding disappointingly,
The nightmare fits it’s grip in bellicose
The darkness of the grave takes you delicately,
The screamers sing in outbursts of enthusiasm ringing,
White satin nights in nocturnal delight flinging.
The elusive, unearthly apparition was ignored.
Sorcerer horror summoning hoarse voiced Bael
King crowned sixty six with demon legions

I was born barefoot and harsh in conditioning,
Washing away wounds of violent love eternally.
Handsome insomniacs gently jumped on me,
With eyes blinking surrounding me the world
turns disgustingly,
Nauseating turns drunkenly in fits of death
shaming me.
I pull back pale, evil spirits rise with days
In ditched depths collapse and grips his
darkened voice is hardening,

Galabiya and long scarfed Ahriman tilts his
head in unbearable laughter attacking:

“You’re anguished miseries past entertain me,
You’re fool hardy determinants sustain me.”

The dark figure covers his delusions in ghostly
Hiding the curves of mocking derisive smile
The deception of tethered feathered cheerful
and devil eyed,
Amused by this Sisyphean pilgrim prides to
conjure wild Ahriman.

Golden-mouthed perceptively moving, lucidly
mystical moving metaphysics assistant,
In a long fluttering dress stirring surfaces into
snaking molten lava,
Covering the corrugated cracks in Babylonian
sandstone liberally.

“Perhaps it has always been there,
This thing, this demon inside me.”

Perennially shifting wilding howling cognition,
Volition in furious fiction,
Feeling snarling snapping at my heels.

The fictions, projections creating
The evil eye and other Jinnah making iniquity,
One day all will be concluded in concussiveness.
Connecting extremes and insanity to
Esoteric central core in magic cube of ancient
Following flowing pictures through dusked
Through furtive white crosses fealty and it’s
central orange,
Color’s evolve spiral through final chapters
In the end a detachable mixture, a riddle
A synapsed seclusion and the task is solved.

There are many ways to kill (a man),
And I taught them.
There are many ways to murder (me).
And I brought them.

Oh give me…pain with no repose,
Oh give me…ears that are closed,
Oh give me…mouths with no response,
Oh give me the burden of a new tongued order,
And the skin rhythmed touch of migrating

Oh his beautiful man, born of demon King
Raised in argent ardency dimensions,
Silveries through strange pattern properties,
Sacral geometries carnivale spinning pellucidly,
Samhain and Scylla spiral madly
Resolutely, while dying they cut their hair free,
Administration of death in her presence seen.
Lost children eternally, anomalous demons
greeting them.
The world flies backwards unreality of what it
Ephemeral to ambiguities flame extinguishing
The dead enfold, born moaning into this world.
Celtic God’s and blackened blacksmith sorcery,
Toys in the palms of callous cannibalistic
Witches ride wildly for frightful Phobos,
From the bales of fear my private lunacy
changes me.

Monstrosities grunting courageously,
Mumbling rotten membranes,
Leaves, thorns, beast horns, intestines, heart
shadowed scorns,
Fright at might dear antlers dead and red, rusty
Morning breaks broke blood torments,
Nights in hellish anguish shatters.
He tore all his clothes off, and naked he roars
with torched lips,
Lunacy smile wild and wide shadowed caustic
Lives lonesome black buffalo and rabid holy

The stalking beast entreats me in rooms
without vision,
Where the light will remain hidden,
Save fiery twilight eternally bidden.

“There is nothing that is alive here” it cackles at
my shackles,

”If the light is prayed the shadows will explode
against expiring,

You do not know what is happening to you,
hellish heresy clarity confuse.”

I should shake the walls, slam fists to tables
expectantly, I said:

“I will make my blood flow like a tap!” I almost
didn’t bleed,
I revealed my wound to wise effect of
He told me to dream.

It’s been a year and still he stands there sirene,
I pound him and drown him, stab him,
confounds him,

Nothing moves him.
The world breaks down around him,
He sneers and peels and smears,
He curses and tears,
And breaks…
And cuts like a beast.

“My innermost shaitan;
Predatorial preternatural hunts of my psyche,
Mavening movements within me…
Or behind my back


Waiting…for me to turn around.”

Look Back In Laughter 2

I remained in the city too long;
Money launderers and ferals of fascism at the temple,
Psychopathy, landlords and gargoyles of Hades,
Ticked the time of my anxiety agonies.
Inconsequential, just look back in laughter.

Scrying mirror celled phones scream light at zombied fright,
Tribaled in unthinking amorphous greys,
All thoughts delayed, philosophy forbade,
And I am banished from sight.
Look back in cackling.

With knived convulsions, he, throwing (my) poetry ferociously,
My books blades for harrowing Hades,
Cultist bastards out! Damnedable freakshow! Damnedable gargoyle!
I will slaughter your abhorrence with bare bloody hands…
…The dark will understand…
Look back in blackest laughter.

All the dinosaurs resting in me,
Bosch painting horrors imprisoning,
Revived in final clenches of human vulgarities.
Look back in mocking revulsion.

Diabolicus in blockus against stalkers seeking saccharine,
Lurkers performing following and flitting in fealty secrecy,
Diogenes mocking threnody beneath me.
Look behind you and chuckle.

Pharaoh’s prenatal in celestial womb,
Fetus feverish in supernova spasmal tomb,
The wheels of history bitterly consume.
Look back in laughter.

Dire desires drives for immortality.
Surviving slaughterhouses of foetal Ustase.
Gossips to trick track tumultuous trends,
Bends of claimed knowledge pretends.
Look back in howled hysterics

Blow dry magic torments and tricks,
To tame and reign hair she is unsatisfied with,
Primps and prods, baths and pedicure supplicate God’s,
Look back in laughter.

Bus ride’s between rooms,
Foul practicalities alchemy in bloom,
Niels Bohr atomic riots in gloom.
Look down in smiling derision.

Visions ignitions, Dubai dreams,
Luxury sensual collisions, minted pillows,
Spartan dishes fissions in asyluming delights.
It doesn’t matter…so…look back in laughter.

She maneuvers her demise into place,
Stratagem, strategies, tactics of replaced,
Cruel callous laws to sate.
Gorgon eyes to hide behind sanguined shirt,
Secret years she bares the tears growing it on her tit,
She digs sharp venomous teeth into it.
She sets the sacrifice of skin and flesh cancerous,
She wills Cerberus clock, let it tick, let it tock…
…until ends.
Look…look back in laughter.

Imps surround, push, pull, shove, harass, harry me.
But look to lacrimation she!
Struggles and sorrow, proud and pretence somnolent,
Desperate hollows in gambles,
In wilding fae’s, wasting away.
Look back in laughter.

Begging by crumbling fracturing fountain
Sleeping primal in public tempestuous transportation,
Are you insane? Why not give money to my children?
I use to have means like you.
Denarius jangling and dancing portents in my pockets,
Protect your drachma or find cruel fate at equal footing,
And the thronging crowds will cast pitying bones;
“Look at the poor thing, insane! What’s wrong with your head!”
Look back in laughter.

The meter is running and there is no room at the inn,
No apartments to appeasements begin.
She was once alluring in elegance untold.
Brought onto Caucasus from Egypt,
By the sons of Ommaya as per ibn Shaprut’s order,
The minister of Abd al-Rahman III and Sebikhasim,
Enslaved, slandered and scold, humiliated, depleted…sold.
A demigoddess of fulsome breasts,
Luxurious hair and pursed plump lips.
Look back tittering in tragedy.

Rejecting the Omayyad caliph,
He told Shaprut to sell Selima to the Khazar King Josef,
To do as he pleases, and this Hebrew king made Selima,
The slave-woman of Allah.
Selima slender, demure elegant unshakable bamboo,
With disgusts in her squealing breathe taking escaping.
Look back in ironic displacing.

Psychopaths along the rode trode dynastic,
Torchbearers of infinite Emperors.
He’s smells blood on the wind, he smells the sweat of victim,
…He smells competition.
Look back in laughter.

Look around…nobody…
Something, someone?…nothing…
Somebody?…nobody in crowns…
Nobody gone to ground…
Nobody is found…
Tomes of related wisdoms nauseate,
The numbers in cruelty mean fate.
Stare intently in tactical laughing.

Strings bind to me in unbreakable unremorseful,
The past hunts behind me.
Medusa drinks me in marbled glass,
In the cruel poison of her irony.
Visages transfixed, trapped in ivory.
Inconsequential…just look back…in laughter.

©® Leila Samarrai

Night Terror


In dread, I embraced wisped feet in repletion,
In terror, I butterflied apparition’s breasts in depletion,
In trepidation, ringed by obelisk blades deranged.
Entranced rascaldom gaze,
lurking easily, spying scoundrelaxedly,
multiplied deception perspirationally.

Witness Athena’s whimpering visage,
Glimpse aghast, at lamentations length,
Behold at shattered tatteredeeming heart.
I am the eternal echoing in winds!
I am logos esoteric under tongues!
I am Alpha Omegacally!
I am the first things passed away in haze.


I am screams in pyretic pain,
Dante’s inferno claimed disdains,
Wiggles and diddles on moonlit fiddles,
The madman’s prance trance,
Cataclysmic in marionette pulls romance.

Circuitous, I am hoppingeniously leaping
from lucidity screaming,
Teaming totalitarian fingers,
Contriving this nightmares meaning.
Sleep hassleep ASLEEP!
O unholy night of insult complete!
The boogeymanicured boogeymaniacs approach,
and mamma is not here to quell your fears.

Scarlet she of dreams adorned with ash crown,
And fornicatious cup,
And pearls and putrid wings.
Flickering hitheroically,
Hither she slithers, saying:
Smooth sailing, daughterror…
Proclaim the testament of abhorrence!
Reclimate the ethereal horrors!
O, what a phenomenonsense!

(The poet is moving across the field of vision…)
Tete a tete in tatters tatte!…go away!
SKNX-X-X-X.. hngGGggh-Ppbhww
The infinite film strip salacious scritches and screeching away.
O majesticklish! Splendiddle sperdaddle!
O negativa, in eternal rolling rattle!

(The Goddess) PSYCHE: Another nightmarena poetryingly of yours?
MYSELF: Yes, ma’am, directly from Sleep Terror Kingsdomain’s.
PSYCHE: Let me see… (PSYCHE begins to read):

“I, Nymphet in the bud, the Goddess of dreadful hymen. An unloved goat-nymph, the envy of all Greek islands, lulling between the crests of two mad waves. Populated by the covetous, sweat drips from my restlessness, pouring from my succulent thighs. I was caressed by butterflies. Shadows entangled in the light, emotivity fleeting flight. My breasts crashed against the greedy cliffs. My womb a vanity of acrimony. I was raised wild amongst lunacy. A tabula rasa inscribed with psychopathy. Howls of animus heard seminal river breaks, beneath the gibbous moon, below the navel, where milky pearls drip into floods of hot rivulets, below the eyebrow where woundingly fears drip into eyes of undulant sadness.”

PSYCHE: Astonishingly ingloriously!
(The sounds of tearing paper in the ether and maniacal laughter closing in)

Perchance to nightmonish.
Sweat and sound and screams abound,
Echo outlandishly strident in autumnal sanguine dyes.
The red reaper chokes at throats,
In asphyxiation I quell rebel against this nightmare tell,
And awake…in heaves…and distortion fades…
But still…and abound…the maniacal laughter closes in…all…around.

©® Leila Samarrai

“The Ghost Part”, sequel “The Adventure of Boris K.” Boris K, paranormal expert

The Adventures of Boris K. “The Ghost Part”, sequel “The Adventure of Boris K.”
Boris K, paranormal expert

Boris K. encounters a man who is crying inconsolably. He complains that, because of the pandemic, he is not able to accomplish the only passion he had in his life, and that is to visit exotic and attractive locations, metropolises and what not. Boris K. took pity on him and told him that he had had great trouble visiting these places because during his travels he had discovered that not every city was as beautiful as it seemed. He narrowly escaped with his life.

  1. Scotland. The 9th Legion disappeared behind Hadrian’s Wall. They were killed by the Picts in present-day Scotland, huge, red-haired warriors who painted themselves blue. It is said that the ghosts of the Picts attack tourists from the dark Scottish forests and that he is not safe from them even in Edinburgh.
  2. Prague – it is said that in the 18th century, a German noblewoman who had a castle there became a vampire and that she was restless and sucked blood from tourists which she seduced by presenting herself as Ruzenka Smetana.
  3. Paris – a creepy grandpa who is over 300 years old has a guillotine in his basement in the 3rd arrondissement and responds to the name Robespierre.
  4. Australia – Banjip, a creature from Aboriginal mythology, is a real, huge, hairy spirit that lives under the Sydney Opera House and tickles passers-by while they are laughing fit to kill.
  5. Beijing – circus master Jo Po is not a master at all. He asks an ordinary passer-by to enter the box and then saw them in half. The difficult bit is putting them back together…
  6. Mauritius – the dodo bird is still alive, huge, bloodthirsty and cannibal
  7. Parnassus – philosophers harass you – they appear and talk about whether Pythagoras is better or Heraclitus’ principle is better. Boring to death …
    Dangerous too.
    That is the reason why we should not leave Serbia, the land of vampires and werewolves

House of Freaks

I went towards the timeless ocean of temporality,
to the very beginning, on the shores
of cursed waters where dead faces grinned

Speak will I not of the terror I saw upon the rough-hewn coast
may evil see you, black tooth bite you
and fume its pungent breath into your soul –
they pull my sleeve, pull me with them,
as I scream and fling stones at them,
and whichever I reach out for, they kick it hard,
and this lasted for a while, until they fled.


As is the circle that gone around this heat
I walk like a sleepwalker, through memories.
who may they be, they whose violence can’t be undone, like filth
which nature makes all roundabout in this sick land?

Whose land is this?
The witch smacked her hands together,
demons came out of her evil eye,
and I woke up, seeing it as round and round as the sun.
A dark glow was white in the newly-born day.


Here she is. Cathedral front porch.
The Gilded Angel, the entrance hidden
the hour’s missing
under the golden light
and with the body of cherubim


I do not want to enter damn thing,
but facing the cruel world in the beast,
fear came over me, it swore at me insanely
and gave me a smack on the cheek.


While I quivered terrified on the accusing wind,
and at one moment stopped,
lost in the light
of the merciless machine which kept chugging,
non-stop, looking at me vengefully, demanding more…
my skin is sensitive, it will not endure this.


Perchance evokes from its lofty perches
aflame in anger in House of Freaks
time is ticking. Space dying,
on display for carnival patrons
step warriors clad in leather armour, their axes bloodied
with a wicked howl of the wind
More and more near approaching
human chicken tarred and feathered
“We accept you, we accept you”

It took my hand and got me in.

Look. The sign is crookedly placed!
in front of the church!
all of this clowning around,
this house
this wire
this fleur-de-lis
all of this is wrong,
instances inscribes threatening riddles
forcing a finger into the joke
above the shield
a royal crown, with church gates shut!

Where, where are you taking me…
what misfortune is this?!

Between me and the monster (Expulsion)

Behold the corpses, with the human living tissue
Who implants their brains, in the human molecule
Behold the dead cell remains dead

Thus multiplies unusually imitating the human immune system
Near to the early stages of metamorphosis
And those hidden knives of deceit

the hellish butcher was as the hellish butcher a just man,
Its stumbling cave dweller was so benign,
And of brain cutting their cingulum

Blindly feels everything up in the darkness
Out of their eyes along with the catacombs
Surrounded by whirlwinds of dread and howl

Evil people, this way, that way, this was how I lay,
Alone, In black wreckage,
Now from the creak-opening and now
The decrepit mouse-coloured door,
Peeling and crumbling.

The first Creature caught me.
When we that black wreckage encountered,
Who came beside the battle not to disembark
The ship of illusions between me and the monster,
Gazes at us

Thus the femininity was no cause for hysteria
By grotesque calls were repeating themselves who seized
An unbending pride, and cried out, “Rather the end horror of it!”

Maybe they’ll cut my throat during sleep?
No, I must do this myself for them to mask their existence,
And I would liken an insane person
And they would become one more victim the richer,

Those who know of the human mind more than
Before my death,
Then the further development of technology
Of destruction of Man
Would ensue, right there
Near the end of the century,

When we a company of the great demons terrify
Who curse every person who manages to force them out
Gazed at us, out of his or her body or to fight back.

Behold the evildoers, with the soft, muddy picture
Whose image comes into focus and a zoom-in
Behold for ten seconds or so on a movie screen.

On the threshold of the creation
Of whoever it might be.