Alone.
Someone could stab me with their fingertips
and they wouldn't touch me.
I don't think I can get much colder,
but I'm certain I'll find out.
I'm tired but I can't sleep.
My stomach is empty but I can't eat.
I'm incidental.
My existence is hinged off of mistakes-
it's a web that hangs on a string.
I don't belong anywhere,
and it's heavy and sticks to my skin
and I can't wash it off.
I don't know how much longer anyone expects me to take this.
I don't know if I can take anything much longer.
I'm scared. I don't want to smile anymore.
I wish I could remember how to cry.
I'm alone now.
I'm alone.