Going back to where things began to go wrong, where a living death began – a compacted and heavy burden, invited, entertained, nourished and later shunned.
Winding in a van through streets, possessions shifting in the back, complete with watchful eyes mocking; at the same time a heart bleeding.
Moving on seemed nothing back then; escape not thinly disguised, each time different but the same.
Running from what? The question lingers still: a blissful heart was not enough, nor satisfied desires.
The sound of your catching breath, your heartbreaking threats; your guilt, your pain.
Where is the peaceful empty space, the longed for place, taken by the only ones who could?
Torn apart, twisted days, freedom starts. Please life come back to my deadened soul, my heart.
