Irren wir nicht im oeden All umher? - Nietzsche
Don't we grope ever through deserted All?
Searching the curtain for the tiniest crack?
Smashing our hand as we poke into wall.
Hoping to leave the stage and not come back.
Wouldn't you love to give each face a smack?
Slipping upon the curtain, down you fall.
Finding a knife you madly start to hack,
Feeling so God-damned that you start to bawl.
Turning the knife around, you get the knack.
Praying, if not to find release, then maul.
Steady now, take your aim, and then attack.
Reeling, you think you taste the bite of gaul,
And you rejoice to find your body slack.
This poem is meant your senses to appall.
If I succeeded, then it's time to pack.