Today,
This pen took orders.
"Write them."
It wrote that.

My face smiled when I wasn't happy.
My legs knew they were tired but didn't stop.

I remembered to straighten my tie.
And wash my hands.

I got abused and didn't give any back.
I wanted to so badly.

I didn't hate anything today.
I wasn't happy about anything today.
The hell kind of day is this?
The hell kind of day is this?
Is this a kind day in hell?
Is hell just like this?
trapped in ice.
Like Dante's devil.

In my little notebook I rambled about other stuff I didn't feel today.
I don't have to list it.
I can.
Quick.

I tore out some notebook paper.
Blank.
Burned it.
Made a wish.
For anything.
Just now. I listed it. I gave up gave in.

To feel anything.

Even tired.
Even sad.
Even angry.
Or furious.
Make the djinn make my heart burn,
if he can't crack the ice.
Let's melt it.
Even the pain would be something.
Even a little hurt would keep me going.
Remind me I was still going.