Portuguese Children - Andrei Andreescu

And it keeps following me
Demon from demon's cloth
Pleasure from sapphire chalices of purple blood and ancient ashes
Death is the ending but also the thrill of the thorns that bring redness to blood
The thermal waters of the mountains conjure soothness
But so do their fine vapours of mist
However, I indulge in smoke
Holding a cigarette, the dead end burning,
brings a slow collapse of vital pulses in my lungs; I feel a guilt that bestows accents upon my tormented psyche
Lavishly, I continue dreaming as it burns further down
Scenes, people, souls, that in my spectrum exist differently than how I've really met them
Their handshakes have smoothness, for I am the slave of their touch
But who is the slave that conjures and dictates his master's touches?
The guilt travels further
There is pleasure in being in the wrong
Life imitates art, but only if it is imagination
I extinguish the cigarette and light another
For a moment, I feel infinite