My hell is now my heaven.
The one where I know how to burn
and still say it doesn’t scorch, doesn’t hurt.
The one where I know how to cry without tears,
the one where I say I’m fine,
when I’m not at all.
See, you who accuse me,
yet know nothing about me.
You who accuse just to accuse,
just so it’s easier
to walk through your empty, miserable life.
Would you trade? Would you?
Would you take my life?
Here, I’ll lend it to you if you want.
You can return it whenever you please,
but I know you won’t,
I know you won’t—
because there’s no love, no joy, no peace here.
Only emptiness and sorrow,
the kind that’s been with me since I can remember.
As a child,
was I guilty even then?
Was I?
Even when I folded my mother’s clothes
just after they buried her.
They still smelled like her...
As if she were alive.
I was a child—hey, I was a child!
Would you take my school essay about my mother,
when my mother was no more?
Would you write it for me?
Would you?
Look, I knocked on heaven’s doors,
I heard laughter and voices behind them.
But it wasn’t my place,
they didn’t hear me...
So I turned around and left.
Would you take my victory over life,
when you have everything, yet nothing?
When you fought, but don’t know why,
and in the end you wonder what it was all for?
Would you?
Do you know battles and wars are useless?
Do you know we all end up
in the same place waiting for us?
And for me, that’s actually a relief.
I know there’s peace somewhere,
the peace you fear,
but I don’t anymore.
See, it’s a good thing sunglasses exist.
Eyes red from crying—
I hide them so you won’t see,
then fix myself up and go
to places with no love, no care,
no interest, no support.
Hey, all my roads were like that.
But you don’t know, you don’t know.
Because I’m guilty, okay, I’m guilty.
Fine, I’m used to it.
Guilty in advance for everything,
I’ll sign it.
Would you try the fear in my bones,
the fear of the man you share a bed with,
the one who makes you tremble
and keeps you awake at night.
Not because it’s good,
but because in your sleep
he ripped out your hair.
When you scream thinking it was a dream,
but it wasn’t—
it was a fucking night,
and it was real,
and I was alone in it,
and it was hell.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, shaking,
waiting for dawn...
And being alone in that?
But you don’t know.
You don’t know.
You know nothing.
And for that too, I’m guilty, okay.
I’m guilty for that too.
See, I accept all those blames, you know.
I’ve got no problem with it.
And today I don’t even care.
That’s my heaven—
when you’ve walked through hell back and forth,
and you’re not afraid anymore,
not scared,
because the devil doesn’t sleep beside you anymore.
God stopped him in his tracks.
You know, sometimes it feels
like my battles never end,
like my wars with evil keep going.
Because the shadows from the past remain,
the evil I couldn’t defeat,
the evil left unpunished,
the injustice still screaming.
There—you’ve got new material to gloat over.
You, the judge,
the one who claims to know my life.
Here’s more proof:
even after hell, there’s still more,
it never truly ends.
And that’s the injustice I’m guilty of.
That’s the injustice I carry like a cross.
Here—would you take it?
I’ll hand it to you, lend it—would you?
No. Of course you wouldn’t.
