Dead author

Sleeping nightmares
Sleeping dreams
I'm going on blasphemy way
My enormous desires
My only one destiny

Dull smell of perspiration
Makes awake from the dead
By strange sight
I need to differentiate the shapes

The blood flows down the edge
Like a deadauthor
I feel the bowels on my hands
A poet of dead words

I'll rise up my head
I'll feel life full power
Which flows slowly
It's my thorn in his crown

I'm hiding in darkness
Alone in an abyss of pain
Broken by the nails of fear
I curse my creator

The blood flows down the edge
Like an eternal fire
I create the fear by my face
A sculptor of dead bodies