I'm like a vacuous worm laying in bed
Squirming uncomfortably.
Watching myself impassively rot
from the inside out.
My books are collecting dust of life's are no longer live.
My chairs accumulating clothes of personalities I no longer wear.
I'm holding my unresponsive eyes in my hands, I feel blind, I can't see my wood floors.
It's covered in inscrutable ideas, on blank pages, ripped out of my notebook.
Ink spills but nothing's written
Inspirations, emotions, and feelings are lost somewhere within the air.
But I can't inhale the oxygen they contain.
My eyes try to peer a view of the world
through ***** curtain cracks.
Im tired of staring at the ceiling.
I turn my head left to stare at the chipped painted walls.
Simple words splattered in color crow black of all the humanly advice I've ever heard.
Yet it doesn't resonate inside of me.
I turn my head right to stare at the wall peeling like my thoughts trying to crawl out of my brain.
It's funny,
how vacant this room feels;ghost memories fill the emptiness inside this empty space.
when I have everything I ever wanted to make me feel alive Inside here, or so I thought?
She said
"Where lies the beauty in being buried alive"
And I responded
"I don't belong here anymore"
Struggling to keep myself intact
like my fingernails being bend back till they snap.
As I watch a detritus love deteriorate, in a gradually decomposing disintegrating way, and perish like it never existed in the first place.
Like trying to constantly feed life into the lifeless with any kind of progress.
My teeth are corroding from all the words stuck in my mouth
I fell off my bed, crawling on top of  wordless pages.
Dragging myself across what seems to feel like a hollow abyss, with a floor made out of hands filled with thorns.
Trying to find peace inside the hollow selfishness of my psychotic Self implanted misery.
And through my rebirth of dead departures of selves
I found God in myself....