i wade through each day like slush;
gray, cold, frostbitten toes
they run toy trains up and down my spine
lick salt off my cheeks and press
fingers to my forehead.
they tell me i'm sweet, soft spoken
a kind soul, a saint
i let their words roll off my crimson lips
cloying honey, deep golden hue.
sometimes the hours are lonely
lost in space and dimension with but a key
to a door that only opens down
so that i fall in an endless rabbit hole.
a ticking clock, a shrinking potion
i masticate tea cake crumbs until i gag.
eat me, drink me,
dispose of this monotonous body
this rotting cage for a shredded soul.
i tell them my number and rank
i tell them my number and rank
i tell them, and they shove a satin ribbon down my throat
tip an oil can to my crimson lips
and tell me it was all a dream.