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2, 3 Promethazin gegen die Angst im Kopf.
In der Wand ein Loch.
Ich krieche durch die Schlacke, sie klebt
wie Teer an meiner Haut.
Es ist kalt und eng, doch ich brenn',
fühle mich beklemmt.
Ich ersticke, dicke Luft, kein Licht, weiter
bis zum bitteren Ende.
Bastard,
they called you
As if the lack of father is a curse
(It is not)
Murderer,
they called you
As if the ones you killed deserved any less
(They did not)
Darling,
she called you
As if her gentle words would be enough to save you
(They were not)
Cursed,
you call yourself
What do they know,
of broken souls and
breaking hearts
mothered by a broken promise and
sired from a broken vow
(Nothing. They know nothing.)
— y.c.