Thirteenth Step

Home is where the heart is,
but where does this heart wish to go?
Hidden deep within the places,
the eyes will never show.

The village has burned down,
fickle monuments lie in waste.
The well is dried empty,
there’s no food to touch or taste.

There’s darkness on the horizon,
the moon has lost its charm.
The sun cannot burn,
its light can cause no harm.

Where I stand is heaven,
beneath me there’s only hell.
On the ashes of greatness and possession,
this is where Lucifer fell.

Improvement is a sound,
destruction is a feeling.
Voices are echoes,
seeing is not believing.

Blankets bring warmth,
but this one is turning cold.
Covering everything,
it won’t crumple or grow old.

Standing still I’ve wandered,
to the end of space and time.
Slowly beating, steadily rotting,
breaking through the paradigm.

Am I at home,
or is this where I come to sleep?
A house full of nightmares,
poltergeists and beheaded sheep.

This is my home,
but I’m afraid I have to leave.
Watering a single plant in a garden,
is a fate reserved for the naïve.

You’ll say, “I’ve picked you,
while you were crawling on the ground.
I stood by you,
when no one else was around.”

Broken glasses don’t make a home,
after successive storms it’s bound to break.
I can’t hide behind a mirror,
when there’s so much to give and take.

The first step is the hardest,
yet I begin walking fast.
Disconnected and fearless,
not counting which one will be the last.

Void

This void is my temple,
abominable and full of grief.
Twisted and distorted,
where dark secrets come to sleep.

All who enter disappear,
falling one by one.
Vanishing like an illusion,
distant memories they become.

The weak will only wither,
the strong will all be slain.
There are no rights and wrongs,
nothing to lose or gain.

There is only despair,
happiness will end in vain.
Engulfed in isolation,
the silence will drive you insane.

Some may call it hell,
for its burden is really huge.
Some call it home,
where they come to seek refuge.

There is no vision,
no hope or a better day.
Nothing makes sense,
nothing to show you the way.

But it does not matter,
because there’s no one to see.
In the darkest shade of black,
you can be anything you choose to be.

I take this knife,
and pull it closer to my chest.
Maybe in the afterlife,
I’ll find a place where I can rest.

Nobody gets this pain,
and no one can understand.
It slips through their fingers,
like tiny grains of sand.

I am alone in this vile prison,
that’s dissecting every inch of me.
Cut open and helpless,
yet everyone refuses to see.

These feelings are raw,
intense thoughts that no one can accept.
Crawling on bloodied broken glass,
stomped by the feet of neglect.

Each moment is a struggle,
tainted by suffering and pain.
Breaking the cranium,
swallowing the brain.

There is no escape,
happiness and peace are distant dreams.
A smile to mask turmoil,
to keep it hidden underneath the seams.

Every day is the same,
there’s no running away from yourself.
Nobody to hold your hand,
and no one who can truly help.

“It will get better,”
is something they will all say.
But deep down inside you know,
that death is the only way.