Cherry juice drips down my chin;

sticky fingers graze against a cheek,

my hand will not stop shaking anymore.

Juice boxes are scattered around my room.

The sun plays on my twin sized mattress

that I can't seem to get out of.

I assume it's because I have two left feet;

or maybe I haven't been taught how to walk.

Melted crayons on my wall I tried painting over.

Six pairs of socks still don't keep me warm.

My diary remains full of colorful words.

Being devoid of color is replaced with

washable markers, non-toxic glue, and extra fine glitter.

The bubblegum in my mouth is melting.

I think I used too much glow in the dark glue,

because I can't pick them up or feel them,

despite seeing them right in front of me.

Having crying fits over a pack of goldfish

until I fall into deep slumber, drooling on my pillow.

I'm terrified of the dark; I cannot stop screaming,

But it's not the dark where you turn off the light, no.

It's the dark inside my own mind - the loneliness

and being stuck in my brain's room that keeps me up too long.

I can't sing or play with an instrument anymore

because my voice is too shaky and my hands,

my hands are covered in this cherry juice.