Apocatastasis

In my father’s house,
there are many mansions.
Some don’t have heat. Some are cold.
A few have whores who are discreet.
There is sex for sale, and souls, and love.
And everything you can think of,
in my father’s house.

I have yet to find the servants quarters.
But I am sure they exist, little holes
crewed by gentiles. My father
laughs when I mention this idea.
I ask my uncle, Satan, in the whore house
with his five cocks dangling
just out of his reach with Onan smirking, and
he just smiled, and looks a little sad.

I am walking through the mansion.
It is very cold here, in the mansion.
I am looking for my wing, for my rooms.
I am only finding empty rooms, or ones
with furniture covered in plastic. In another,
an orgy of people covered in plastic greets me.
I turn away, looking for my rooms, looking for a guide.
It is very quiet, and no one answers me.
I wonder, in the scared core of my soul, if this is Hell
and I am all alone. I ask, “have you forsaken me?”
And get silence in reply, only my voice is here,
the little one inside, the devil saying:
“you have forsaken yourself.”

I want to go home now. Or find a door for my keys.
I am dragging them behind me with rocks, when I
am aware of them. I am so tired. So tired. I want to sleep.
I want to sleep.