Raskolnikov without the murder excuse


The room across the body/ spreads a dire hallucination

The genius imagines the ordinary cross/ that lies upon the/ people he tormented in actions –/ just theories for a good cause

He sleeps on a couch using old clothes/ Law isn’t blind but fake in depression

Reminiscences of the body sank on the floor/ in blood with no pale – just face of a guy/ sadistically emerged in laughs that/ are the jury for a mind painted with guilt,/ hidden in pursue

Schismatic throws his pain in the consciousness/ of a fainting character, discovered in apathy…

Without the excuse for the slaughter/ that protects the second body, sent on the same floor

Both reached the mind-prison …