I’m looking at my wounds and draw them aside.
Wider. Deeper.
My hand’s plunged inside, twisting the knife.
Seeing the plague’s face taking shape doesn’t scare me anymore.
Seeing the plague coming out of my wounds liberates me.
I’m close to dying a thousand times
But this time I allowed myself to cry.
Rivers of salt to feel lighter than a feather.
Why the contact with the ground should be painful if I know I’m falling ?
Arms in a cross, ready to absorb the shock.
I just know I can’t go lower.
There is no under.
Just me, myself and I.
And the will to stay or to climb.
Light is brighter from the dark
And I want to kiss the sun.
Not to drown in what’s supposed to make me breathe.
I, born again.
Listen to the screams coming out of my wounds, free from the plague.
Listen to the screams coming out of the hole, holding the sound of joy and pleasure.
Listen to my screams announcing the birth of a new man.
I, born again.
Until the bell tolls, nothing’s finished, nothing’s done.
Until the bell tolls, I am immortal.