I take a bite.
The taste, it's sweet.
The texture, it's crisp.
I take another bite.
The taste, it's grand.
The texture, it's great.
I take a third bite.
The taste, it's old.
The texture, it's the same.
I take one last bite.
The taste, it's gone.
The texture, it's nonexistent.
Why do I do this to myself?
I guess that's just the way the cookie crumbles.

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My eyes shut.

I flew with the force of a bullet through my windshield. I never thought it was possible for something so drastic to happen so quickly, but here it was happening once again. I feel my head smack against the ground. The sounds of bones crunching echoes through the air, and then the noise stops.

My eyes open.

I see the dark sky, splattered with stars upon stars. I inhale sharply, searching for my breath that I thought that I had lost. I try to move my hand. I can't. I try to move my leg. I can't. I open my mouth to speak, but I can't let out any words. Instead, I scream. I scream louder then I have ever screamed before. My head turns to the side and looks at the car that I was in not only a moment ago. One of the headlights has died, but the one that still works blinds me.

I flinch, and my eyes shut again.

I can hear the sounds of sirens rushing towards me. I'm lifted up, and put into a vehicle. Something sticks me in the arm. My body goes numb. I can't move, I can't move, why can't I move?

My eyes open.

A year later.

My arms bangs against the side of the wheelchair. The nurse yells at me to not to do that, or I'll get my fingers stuck in the spokes.


                            I can't talk.

                                                          ­        I can't feel

           I can't talk.

                                                                ­           I can't move.


My family comes to visit. I can't even tell my mom and dad that I'm sorry for doing this to them. Do you know what it's like to look your own parents in the face, only to have them cry over the fact that you can't open your own mouth to feed yourself?


                  I can't talk.

                                                               ­             I can't feel

               Can't talk, can't move.

                                                          ­                     Why?

                      I can't talk

                                                           ­     I can't feel.

                                             Why?



My whole body aches to be itself, but it can't because it's stuck in a constant cycle of asking itself how to be itself.

               Why?

                                                     I can't move.

                                                                ­                 I can't talk.

                             I can't feel.

                                Can't feel, can't move.


I just want you to know that I made I mistake.

I just want to be able to feel again.

I'm trapped inside my own mind, and it appears that I can't escape.
Every single thought I have ends up repeated over and over again.
I feel like I'm going absolutely insane.
No matter what I do, what I think, I'm haunted by my own concious.
Rusty cement walls surround me on every side, and every time I have a negative thought, the walls close in by another inch.
How do I stop thinking so negatively when I know that my demise is inevitable?
Maybe I should let the thoughts come, and let the walls crush me.