In the Grip of Chaos

Merciful God, I beg for my soul,

I feel that something in me is already lost.

The pain that consumes is the same that awakens,

The hatred for what is gone and the anguish

for what is yet to come.

My mind does not rest,

In my chest I feel the void.

Is there still salvation for me?

Or is all that remains regret?

Imprisoned by my thoughts, I am not free,

My prison is my conscience,

And the bars of my cell were formed

By my understanding.

Merciful God, I drown in waves of darkness,

The frenzy has no end,

I have become the worst kind of sick man,

A madman who denies his own madness.