It all started when I began to separate our things into mine and hers.
Our joys, toys and laughs that were one, became for two
And the spiritual slumber began to take hold.
Words stopped coming out for fresh air.
They got stuck deep down in the throat.
Needed a serious toilet pump to unclog that shit.
To provide an urgent air flow to the heart.
So much for having things, me and you.
I burn them now.
They say scars are the jewels of a man,
and thus I am a king of the inside,
spiritually bloody raw,
but an old soul props me up.
Yet those spooky inner castles,
maybe just corridors,
they are not empty,
not at all abandoned,
not even empty
of air and sounds,
if I listen,
I can hear them
Devils dance for me,
but they no longer excite me.
A lonely tear
That won’t leave my eye
Helps me see clearly.
The thing with souls,
the more you break them,
the more alive they come.
What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.
But what kills you, well.
Wakes you up.