My mind is burned, it twists and turns, a knot without an end,
with passages and doorways dark and halls that have no bend,
around each corner lurks a hell that leaves me pale and shaking,
and yet I know, I recognize, this world is of my making.
There is no door, there is no end, no crawlhole for escaping,
there’s only constant screaming pain, raw edges torn and scraping.
It matters not which way I run, or walk or crawl or fly,
each direction that I see is a reflection just for me, the mirror is a lie.
I see Your face, Your love and care, Your promise of protection,
I see the rot that lies behind, the inevitable rejection.
I see the promise of the world, of chemicals, unfeeling,
I see myself, locked further in this hell of my own dealing.
I turn and turn, a desperate beast, trapped in my own burning,
I long for someone I can grasp, to make the world stop turning.
I see the end, of “hope” and “love”, and other traps and dangers,
I pound my fists against the glass, and still remain a stranger.
The only way, if way it is, is giving in to all the never,
retreating to the center space and living there forever.
Giving in, and giving up, becoming timeless nothing,
Curling up and curling in, the outer worlds just vanishing,
a black hole space without a world, no mind, no soul, no thing.