Hollow.
like veins that no longer support blood flow.
my mind is the canvas in which I destroy spirit.
I'm no longer harboring what it feels like to be alone.

The feeling is like bones breaking,
under the weight of the guilt that pins you down.
eyes lifeless like stone statues.
there is no creativity left in this vessel
only wrists that itch and fingers that shake
at the thought of being any where near the state
in which I am anything other than truthful
and that is happy.

Its overrated really.
Fake.
Processed and practiced.
Scripted.
Happiness is the mere idea
that the world is anything more than
what it will never be capable of.
Like me.

I'm just proving to the world
that backs don't break with the weight
of insanity on your shoulders.

I never had anything to give,
and now I no longer have the strength
to take back what was originally mine.
My self worth was stolen by your vicious words
and how I saw through the stare you held.
It said sadness..
but I know it was only masking hatred.

You think you're hiding
behind your own problems.
the fact that you had dreams no longer
stops me from believing that
you led yourself to your own downfall.
It was never my fault
that you couldn't make yourself
into who you wished to be.
Who you still wish you were.
No. My small body had nothing to do
with your inner demise.
You'd just like to believe that
to mask the truth of it.

You'd given up long before I was even thought of