A vehicle made of skin and sweat,
where you can smell heartbreaks,
dreams and perversions like a bad-breathe.
I overheard two pale kids, probably
too much of weed, cheap alcohol and pills
talking how lead vocalist of death
metal bands are
god gifted to have such badass screams.
I was minding my own business, but
could not stop thinking that
all they sing about, is the macabre of death
and it is not a bit frightening compared to
horror of a worn-out girl,
just standing by their side, carrying
her malnutrioned kid on her emaciated hip,
while her husband is probably waiting
on a death-penalty in some far-off castles of
gold and sand. I made a wild guess, seeing
the convexes of her contagious
sadness transfixed at remotest nothings.
Besides, the sweet oxymoron
of death-metal; that keeps screaming
the glory of satan, has to gifted by god
for a vocal that sounds as if
someone is throwing up on a tarpaulin sheet.
I forgot to buy some grocery
on the way home. Aesthetics of death-metal
is too much to keep a pace.