I. Benedictio Prima

Red. Benedictum est spatium illud.

II. A Station.

Magenta. Is a place I often visit
In my memories and dreams
But never in daydreamings.

Covered in glass
With clean tiles
People moving
Always busy
In memories I departed
Unwanted visits from here.

Dozens of trackways spread outwards
Reaching soulless stations to transport
Local vices and barbarisms.

I hoped that the tracks loop
Under the ground to meet
So they enclose this earth
And shrink it to nought.

Where are these people going?
Would be as boring as their jobs
And pointless as their lives
And meaningless as their noises.

Eggs spread from the mother spider.
I will free yourselves from the sin
Of the inevitable matricide, for
I have come as a stranger here.

R. Whither exports this hate?

M. To this world, my heart.
Including this glasscosm.
I maledict this place marked
So it be destroyed in the last day.

That tree they built on the glass to mock
-- Its roots will shatter their core.

I am misanthrope at least. This is
Not outrageous to anyone anymore.

R. 'Tis needless to elaborate.

M. I hate what is to be hated.
And this world is full of them.
I hope you get hit by a truck.

R. With our heart determined
We won't be tired from driving.

M. I am full of hate outward
And full of love inward.
My body is a void inbetween
And the contrasts from them
Are my sensations.

R. For love is stronger than hate
Your inner domain will expand
-- That it spread.

M. I am treading the unknown path
Surrounded by abhorribles.
But I still have my love in my heart.
The more hate I feel the more I love you
And I can't contain it anymore.
If my words can imitate your sweetness...

R. Inward?

M. I hug my shark plush tight on me and imagine that it's you.