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An old man locked away
eyes me bitterly from coming times.
A small boy alone on a playground eyes me fearfully
with so many questions and nowhere to start from.

All I ask, leave me alone
with the only companion, friend and foe,
loving... hating...
understanding... questioning.

Incarcerated to self-torture.
Denial is the only way out.
Punishing existence haunts me everywhere.
A god of pain, pantheism.

I know I am lost,
never waking up from dirt,
longing to conquer time,
longing for that amber shell.

These shackles are of despise
set by who? Not me, not you.
We're all nothing but slaves.
Weakness is a lord strong enough.
It knows I'll never lose control.
This bed of sticky mud
keeps me down.
So I rage in peace.

But even after all these tears and sweat and blood
and poison and shit and piss,
after all the screams at the deaf ears, and the walls listening to every whisper,
after frantic rush, after everlasting paralysis,
after shame weighing more than everything,
I still sink into relief and laughter.
The sweet salvation of sickness, a reason to exist.
O' morbid joy! I have served my purpose!

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