Corruption and the colour of nothingness.

There is a difficulty at this night
like at the poetry i try to write
not in my language
but
in the language of the soul.

And there is a hard door to break
between me and what it is
between what is really here
or not at all

It is hard to recognise the person in the mirror
without searching for clues
without trying to remember pieces of me
that now are all gone

And they are better off without me
dead and forgotten wherever they are.
I could never stop thinking about what I have become
but only hold on for a minute of silence
behind the hard door
that I finally have to break.

And then realise
what am I to surrender?
What could possibly make me think that
a life has a meaning
when all the existence meets up
with the emptiness and the nothingness
this unlimited blackness
the loneliness of the corrupted mind
inside a burning room
outside of a burning human being
struggling to get through the maze of denial.

Struggling to get away
of the thoughts 
behind the door.