I see myself.
Sitting there.
Wondering how to respond.
To the way that you're smiling.

So.
I awkwardly bare my teeth.
Trying no to stare in your eyes.
With my cold.
Dead.

Confused.
Eyes.

Trying to fake an emotion.
Anything.
Human.

Tomorrow is terrifying.
In these wasted days.
Where I can't see a future.

The withdrawal.
Of tobacco.
Starving from habit.
Hypoglycemic psychosis.

Just.
Panic.

Just.
Dysfunction.

Just.
Abysmal.

I like to pretend.
That one day my life will be better.

More.
Normal.

I hate my face.
I hate my body.
I hate being conscious.
It just reminds me.
I'm alive.
And real.
And I've got so long to wait.
To die.

Waking up has become.
The hardest thing I have to do.
I just feel.
Dead.

Alone is fine.
But, I can't describe the way.
I've been lately.
Other than.

Given up.
And.
A waste of food.

So, I don't eat.
Or try.

I want.
To be.
Normal.

I'm not gonna make it.
Passed that line.
Into normal.
And all the responsibilities.
I'm not capable.
Of having.

So, instead.
It's just sheer panic and trying.
Not to die.
Through these invisible meaningless.
Meals.  I eat.
To keep myself alive.

And the acid burn of my.
Aborted attempts.
At being something more.
Than anger.
Frustration.
Walking through anonymous streets.
Chased out of the pubilc.

With no one.
To talk to.