Hay personas que son como el otoño

Life is fierce, and so am I.

Defeated once,

I sunk into the depths of hell,

and forged in fire I emerged,

an iron maiden risen from a spell.

My entrails thorns,

onyx eyes, 

teeth the produce of stonework.

Solidified,

paralysed,

the obsidian pump in my chest

let the river die.

Stygian roads imprinted in my skin,

the threat of a fatal drought

awoke the ire of the nymph. 

She cried,

in her cold-blooded hysteria,

and from her tears 

the life I thought chimerical rekindled,

like a tenuous fire in a ceaseless storm.