My face did not smile today, as I looked at it in the mirror. Something is always wrong. And my lips can never summon the courage. My face did not smile today, as I took a shower; could not bring myself to tears. Stuck in the middle; claustrophobic, like my skull was an oakwood box.
I did not eat today, as I prepared for the day. I couldn't believe my gray, withered eyes would see all across the table and it's countless useless objects. Signs of folded clothes, and cups abandoned from the night before; all evidence weighs down on me.
I am the beast that I run from. Like a sharp knife rapping in my chest, I feel plants tangle my ankles, trip me as I scream. I smell their acid breath as they crunch through bone. Just like books of old; the young die in pointless wars of self. The young are caught in the self perpetuating stream of grief and anger.
So I am mad, so very mad. And to the people I love I unleash it, like the plants inside covering the skyscrapers and industrial highways of my mind, or a dog broken free of it's chains; I destroy everything I touch.