despair
sticks to me like glue
invasive thoughts
make themselves at home
within my mind
self-doubt roams freely
about my body
anxiety settles down
in the walls of my heart
solace is no where to be found

a skeleton
tried to **** me
in my sleep
i wonder
if he was so violent
in his past life

alone,
cold,
and senseless,
your skin somehow felt warm,
under my fingertips.
euphoria ensued,
but was soon replaced,
with an emptiness.
draining me of life,
i had to get out.

I do not know why,
I feel hollow inside.
It does not make sense.
I am not empty.
My body is stuffed,
With sadness,
And a sick feeling,
Of the past.

Desolate:
Barely illuminated by the street light,
A dark figure stands,
With its hood up,
Looking into my bedroom window.

I wait for it to more forward,
To begin its expedition,
In murdering me.

But it does not move an inch,
As if to taunt me and say:,
"Stop looking."

I see my eyes in the mirror,
But they do not seem,
To belong to me.
They are empty,
Of a different essence.

Straining,
Attempting to find a glimpse,
Of familiarity.
Without success,
My anger boils.
Starting at the bottom of my stomach,
And pouring out my ears and mouth.

A loud bang is followed by clanging.
Glass falls around my feet,
Blood flows from my hand,
Hanging beside me.
The mirror is broken,
And displays me more accurately,
Than ever.

Reality is escaping the grasp,
Of my hands.
Their hold was too loose,
The loss: inevitable.
Simultaneously living in the past,
And existing in the present,
Proves detrimental.