I'm moldy and rotten,
Pulling myself apart,
Like cotton.
I press myself, against this cell
If I were skinnier, I could escape this hell.
Skin like cellophane, clinging to bones,
Slipping through the hands, I used to call home.
My stomach speaks, and my breath reeks like acid,
My thoughts like to creep, when they think
No one's watching.
In the middle of the night, you can see the demons dance.
I always thought it rude that they never asked
For my hand.
I cling to the stars, as if they're the only thing that's real,
If I collect enough, I can wish to feel.
The sky is covered in clouds that are rotting,
I pull myself apart, as if I were cotton.
-SLuR