The living room is full of shards of a memory
A memory worth stepping on
I want to feel the tearing of skin
Feel the blood gush out as I remove each shard that tears my feet and I,
I am not a ******* but in moments like these I feel compelled to feel the burning sensation even when there isn't a fire anymore
I miss this.
The hot feeling of passion, only there isn't any passion
The hot feeling of being alive, only there isn't much reason

I don't want to be here but where else am I supposed to stay to feel like I'm still human