I can’t keep running away.

My legs are tired from this,

my head is hurting;

I need to find rest to get well again.

I stop at an abandoned building.

Have I seen this place before?

My memory recalls: big mansion, demolished windows — not a thing here is tidy.

In a dream, or maybe in a movie?

The walls depict a past destruction.

The rotting smell sickens me —

the heavy air presses down like plates in motion —

my mind folds beneath the weight, a silent subduction.

If this has to be my shelter, then let it be.

I never expected for it to be pristine,

but this is my shelter, so I’ll live in it,

for as long as I can, before running away again.

I lay my head and I contemplate my past;

everything has led to this moment:

corruption, done by and to me —

never have I known peace.

I rest my head on my small jacket.

I rest my soul on the thought of God —

the God that brightens even the worst places,

like the house of my heart, that reflects this one.