is this heaven or hell, i can’t tell the difference that well, kneeling before the throne in supplication, or in a pit of flesh eating ants

sing a song of six pence, a pocket full of lies, until the best parts of this child atrophy and die

i sit on the wall awaiting the fall and all the king’s horses and all the king’s men, can never quite put me together again

adrift in the wind, the story begins, with a trail of breadcrumbs leading to a heart full of sins

my evil mother took steps to rectify and crucify, into the mirror she’d decry she wished that i’d die with a theatrical sigh

is this hell or is the heaven, triple sixes or a pillar of seven, the tarantulas can taste my dread, the strumming harps pain my head

this gingerbread house beguiles senses, of frosted dreams and picket fences, the witch inside seems inviting, and drowns out the sounds of parents fighting

i’ll save this farm by any means, i’ll trade the cow for some magic beans, climb until the air grows thinner, and steal the jewels from the hands of sinners

the tenuous at best grip of sanity fades, the light above please draw the shades, sketch the bars of home made jail, don’t make a key or pay the bail

maybe heaven is a construct, and hell is just a feeling, and fairy tales and nursery rhymes are metaphors to help facilitate healing

fact or fiction, heaven or hell, i could never tell the difference that well

oh well