why do i feel at home in hell?

i don't know if it is purgatory or just hell
but i start to feel at home here.
it doesn't make any sense to be there
but then nothing does, not obviously anyway.

i have found consolation in being blind
to hands stretched out in words and
to the idea of a God.

when i cannot find warmth and love
i will enjoy the fire and my solitude,
not at peace, but with all my edges,
with my unpolished  raw self.
i do not wish to be a diamond
nor will i wear a tie on the day of my death.

i live naked, i love naked, and i will die naked
in purgatory, in hell or with a smile on my lips.
i risk my heart when i love
as i risk my life when i live.

i fail, i rise, i fall.
sometimes i stand up again,
surprisingly.

i cannot hear a voice.
i hear no voice.
God never called me anymore.
The angels fled me.

And the sweet apples
are rotting under the trees
with an intoxicating scent.


I must try and find a way
to laugh about myself,
how can i take myself
as being so important,

or as one Rabbi said:
O God, why is it my own problems
which disturb me most?