-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-