My mind was bitterly twisted,

my heart, full of regrets. 

The darkest k-hole I'd ever tripped;

surviving off cigarettes.

And as I looked around me,

my father'd ripped my dreams apart

and I knew deep down inside that

the drugs wouldn't fix my heart.

I gazed hard at my reflection

searching for a way to renew.

The mirror in front of me rippled

so I pulled myself through.

I stepped out of my darkness

and suddenly I could see,

the demons on the other side

with their arms outstretched for me. 

The walls glimmered with sequins,

the sky was bright and blue;

I could've breathed that air forever

if only it were true.

Then an angel approached me

and he offered me some wine;

he told me I was looking lost

and invited me to dine.

Sitting at the table

I came face to face with God.

He handed me what I thought was blood

in a small amphora pod. 

The angels at the table

then all merged into one,

and beside God appeared a young man

that he addressed as son.

He told his son he loved him

and I, just as equally.

He raised his glass into the air 

and saluted humanity. 

They both spoke in tandem

telling me to always be me 

and that the person in the mirror 

is developed retrospectively. 

Therefore, I construct my own persona 

and what I do makes me who I am; 

If I want to be that person I see, 

I'm the only one that can. 

But as he moved to sit down, 

Jesus stabbed him in the side. 

His father fell into his arms 

then closed his eyes and died.

Everything turned violet, 

all bright light disappeared. 

The walls bulged with demonic shapes 

whilst the blue sky overhead seared. 

Jesus leant over his father 

and whispered in his ear: 

"You should have saved me from the cross;

and that Roman’s spear."

He looked at me resentfully,

cleaning the blade of his knife

and growled he would exchange the amphora

in return for my life.

But God had handed me the flask

where he'd chosen it to reside,

so I stepped back from the table,

but there was nowhere to run nor hide. 

Jesus advanced calmly,

menacingly palming the blade,

all hands and arms in the walls reached for me

as the clouds began to cascade.

His footsteps began to quicken

as he bellowed aggressively,

"Hand me back that flask, my legacy;

and I will let you go, harm free."

My body started moving

but there was nothing I could do.

Someone started pulling me back

but I couldn't tell who.

The silver grabbed me coldly

as the mirror sucked me back,

the demons in the walls escaped,

then everything went black.

And when my eyes next opened,

I was lying on the floor.

I tried to find that mirror again

but it wasn't where it was before.

I looked around the bathroom

in complete confused despair,

and spotted the pod on its side in the bath

but the fluid was no longer in there!

Now, I come to think about it,

there was no blood when God was killed.

Not a drop had left his body

and no tears or fluids were spilled.

Maybe he saw it coming;

maybe God lives on... 

Did he empty his blood to preserve his spirit

so his power would never be gone?

I gazed deep into the amphora

hoping it'd work for me;

I closed my eyes and with all my might

ousted my negativity.

Colours flowed out my forehead,

octarine and lilac;

they floated into the golden flask

and gone was all my havoc.

Now every time I recidivate 

I know God is always with me;

he makes my troubles disappear

not figuratively, liter-ally.

The next time my father wailed on me

I focused hard and long;

I wished my troubles into the flask

and now my father is gone.