| Heartburn |
| I stare from behind the mirror |
| I still can’t feel a thing |
| this house has been dead for years |
| it doesn’t mean anything |
| the walls are soaked with indifference |
| the rooms occuppied with despair |
| the bed rocks in its own ignorance |
| the windows just open and stare |
| a climate of unhappy families |
| all covered with dirt and with flies |
| breeding a hole for our secrets |
| so we can watch them all grow into lies |
| at the same time the room seems to mock you |
| parading your shadow of doubt |
| they pray for our silent audience |
| and beg for forgiveness without |
| I dreamed for years before now |
| I’d end up in a place like this |
| too scared in a room I refuse to call home |
| I knew it would end like this |
| I walk with a weight on my shoulders |
| of the promises that I broke |
| to get rid of my guilty secrets |
| throw them down that same hole |
| this house is a house of failure |
| of bitterness and remorse |
| of illness betrayal and torture |
| it means nothing of course |
| in the corner I swear I can hear |
| the ghost of you screaming at me |
| questioning misplaced virtues |
| and my infidelity |
| and even though I did not doubt you |
| no one said that you had to be right |
| the lights in the air that surround me |
| could turn my day into night |
| the company of the corpse here beside me |
| will haunt me forever like your screams |
| like everything else never leaves me alone |
| from my waking house into my dreams |