The Well

 i am lying curled up on the floor, a nervous wreck from own rests, pieces of legs, parts of the hands, glued bits of my hair, and all is just a fading, a continuation of disintegration, that is goood, when no one is seeing, it doesn't hurt anymore, this is the safest state of self. I have this monstrous headaches since last month and looking straightly into the Moon is helpful, so I am sitting here relentlessly, screaming at my father. He wanted to watch cartoons yesterday, I wanted to see Dances with wolves, the Death will come again today probably. 

Animals have been arriving at the bottom of this dry well for years, heaven knows what strange ways they chose to get here. Their weakening bodies are listening fleshy oracles only and now, they are dwelling on the kindness of dreaming in this dark womb. Their rotten bones are grinding and you may feel the dampness of their decaying skin with celestial clouds of flies above their waiting corpses. All unsuitable, all a bit clumsy, too many unnecessary limbs, siamese sisters germinated from "what about once again?", doubled, tripled, sixty-finger, with twin heads and fused hearts, protruding like a dead tree outside the wrongly glued chest. Write! - It was said. - It will bring you a relief, wrap self into art, they will open all doors to you, stick out your degenerated body on the sun, they will welcome you with opened arms. So you are, stub following stub, paw following paw, bone following bone, your mind is beautiful! Hand following hand, nails are scratching out the path, the world will be open, show your snout, smile your teeth, their souls will be opened, so you are crawling from home to home, from window to window, from face to face, you will see, they will look into your eyes and they will open their chests, so you're crawling from home to home, from face to face, from eyes to eyes, yes, it is so goood! Look at them, loook! From eyes to eyes, leering deeply in, every time deeper, and deeper, going down to the same bottom. And there is no end of the eye, nor the beginning of the soul, there's only the well with celestial clouds of flies, divine messengers.