Dantalion, at the bottom of the gaping pit


I descend to the bottom of the gaping pit.

I dive into the black and icy waters.


Sinking into a bottomless abyss.

All that sleeps is not dead but do you slumber in the depths of my consciousness?


Black, wet and spongy pseudopods,

Poisonous and hypersensitive plants

Clasping the altar of broken and wounded memories.


Pandora's boxes lying disemboweled.

The dagger of the sacrificer sinks into the soft body of prosaic reality.

Blood does not spurt but poison oozes out.

Dantalion, I use it as sympathetic ink to write a book of empathy.


Do you know who I am?