My heart has been bleeding for as long as
I can remember
My soul has been poked more than once
More than a hand-full of times
My heart has been a million pieces
And yet the very same heart has been
Painted with colours of love, joy and all the beauty of life

Am I the Culprit?
The prime suspect
In the murder of the heart in me?
Am I a child crawling into a ticking bomb,
That will soon tear my flesh into
A million pieces of a betrayed man?
Am I tripping myself into a dungeon
Of lies or just filling my head with empty
Am I the one filling my
Mind and soul with ideas coloured
With my favourite colour?
Am I the one asking questions
Whose answers are just what I want to hear?

Am I the Culprit
Who mastered his own death?
I jumped into mostly, the wrong trains and hoped to get home
I took a direction leading into a dead-end.
I gave away the keys of my Gun-Safe
To a serial killer and somewhat
Expected immunity.
Have I been handed a package with the wrong contents inside.
To me,
Love has not proved to be true nor proved
Its existence
Am I the reason for all of that?
Shall one say yes?
Then I am to be tried because I’m the culprit in my own murder…