Maybe I shouldn’t breathe that air
Maybe the poisons won’t spread their daggers
Into my walls of flesh
Like a fog, sliding on lonely ceilings.
My humble remains are dripping blood tears
No one will live here anymore, you shout in agony
Blood bursts in buds of putrefaction and rot.
The paint is smiling in fine scratches
Fresh mould pops in the scene|
Ghosts dancing in
A Borgia Palace ruined