Joy

Joy of going by.

Like a leper,

Just wandering around,

All over yourselves.

Joy of seeing you

From above, up high.

Like bugs,

All over the floor.

Joy of fitting in myself,

Of understanding at last.

Reaching out

After such a long time.

Joy of being.

Of existing, just because.

With no way out,

Yet onwards and upwards.

Joy of despising.

By looking at your eyes,

Portraiting all the bad,

While laughing hysterically.

Joy of being dead.

Sinking in quicksand.

With arms alongside,

Never trying to jump out.

Joy of suicide.

Ideas floating around.

A dark hole spreading by,

Wondering about...

Joy of blindfolding,

Of ripping off my eyes.

In the biggest turnaround,

That back goes never more.

Joy of standing still,

Yet gaining some momentum.

Rolling down and bouncing,

Down, towards the hole.