-I stand in a corridor and scream-
there is no echo, I am not screaming,
the scream is a landmine,
taped to every last pore of my flesh.
I make clawmarks, pulling skin off.
but the pores go on forever,
but my fears keep flowing,
like the white breaking porcelain
on the shoreline I drown in,
-I am alone-
and,
and the clock's killing me,
in slow moves, toothache,
and the rising tide of that sea.
-I am a field-
littered with bodies, just like mine:
I've discarded each of them,
when I don't want to be me.
but I want to be me.
I just don't feel this way, with any consistency.
so,
I just need some small anything,
need your love more than everything,
but who am I kidding;
you'll never love me.
-I am left to my misery-