Is This Hell?

Counting the cracks in the floor
I'm forced to look at my splintered hands
remembering what could have been
if God hadn't put Time on my shoulders

He drags me across the room now
leaving a long trail behind
with one last hope in each drop of blood

He'll let me up
to gaze into the mirror
facing my own dead eyes

And I wait for him
to slam my head against the glass
and a thousand old memories
to shatter the floor

I stand like this for days on end
but all is the same
And now I wonder
if it takes this long to get to Hell
or if maybe I've been there all along