Heart Exchange

Need another Vicodin,
worrying that your disappointing them
waiting for the call from your psychologist.
It’s the cycle, born again-
haven’t had enough sleep
keep waking up in nightmares,
falling through the bed sheets
reality stains me with its brightness.
What’s more scary than a night terror?
Knowing you were never asleep in the first place
'as I walk through the shadow of the valley of death'
But I’m not depressed,
darkness is my families crest
we wear it on our soul,
as we're slipping down the hole,
looking for answers with alcohol.

And maybe one more prayer will do it,
because we are children
maybe honour means something different,
that somebody took our hearts
when we were born.
And sterilised our hands,
because we are children
they gave use the wrong hands back,
and now all we see are your veins
and this might be why;
we light up our tv screen
like candlelight in a church,
and pray for a mother.
Because somebody took us first,
and told us that shadows are fathers
pursuing themselves through forests
trying to find a stranger.
With blue veins that shine like a heart-exchanger
looking for a way home.