Geromino's farewell letters.

Geromino's farewell letters.
(From: ATROCIDAD THE TORMENTOR'S CITY).
 



The stink of the big city lurks warmly between the rotting ruins of the outlet.
We stagger and lurch glassy-eyed, curving sometimes right, sometimes left-sided. Evil and garst in our cold senses, we are hyena walkers seeking sacrifice. Tons of waste overloaded on damp walls, nauseate us from black sheet metal skin. 

 
He lies with crooked skinny back, only a human rag on the wall.
Cheeks sunken, above them gloominess, inside flickering one, two lampion points. Fractured nails hanging from dirt claws reach out to us, pleading.


I trudge  - first with metallic shoe - dripping squeaks of slurry from the abdomen, outside, stinking full of fear. Laughing Geromino circulates the almost-dead, white blade with light star sparkles festively.


The tough skin on the throat side does not yield at all, does not want to open for the release of life. But sharpest steel nestles yet deep, red it flushes and warm, mixes with sighing. Tidy cheerfulness gurgles itself clear, makes our hearts and throats again free.


It is Geromino who has lightness, I love him, for no one carries the farewell letters like him