Pale skin touches the hard, wooden floor,
resulting in frissons
and a numbing sensation through my spine:
Through my mind.
A wingspan of hair
mops the filth and dirt from the ground,
neglected and walked over
time and time again:
Worthless.The world is made black,
ebonized by flesh-made shades,
creating a synthetic night:
Deadly.Only, the thoughts racing through my mind
like the eyes during REM sleep,
hinder this death simulation.
It’s impossible to drown out
the sound of the voices in my head,
Screaming. Shouting. Degrading.Failure. Insignificant. Disappointment.
I should give up.
What does it matter?
What do I matter?
sprawled out on the floor,
my arm outstretched,
my hand reaching out,
trying to grasp supportthat just isn’t there.
Nothing is there.
Hope is intangible.
I give up.