To know myself,
To look upon my wretched blood-spattered pillow,
Weeping for the lost innocence of pure childhood fantasy,
The agonising howls of nightmare machinery,
The clatter of broken glass and collapsing papier-mache walls,
O’ tortured souls with rigor mortis,
Malevolent spirits trapped in the ceiling,
Pitiful skull and brain flesh aching with bitter despair,
Acid tears and guttural groans in the lonesome dawn,
Trembling naked atoms crucified atop a mountain of suffering –
Poem by Stamos Mardou