No time to carry the weight of their hate,
No space to kindle bitterness within.
Here I stand, wrapped in my wounds.

No words to unravel who I am,
No need to cleanse the stains of their judgment.
Here I linger, lost in my confusion.

No understanding do I seek from souls,
No gaze of sympathy do I crave.
It’s only me and the chaos I kept.

It's eating me up alive,
Or am I too rotten to be fed?
Alone, inside-out, my head—
Let me out of this horror fest.

Pictures became archives,
Of a repetitive, stagnant time.
Anger manifests itself—
Am I rotten enough yet?

A sharp pain in my chest;
I put on a smile instead.
Juices seeping out, blood-red—
Pages fill my medical files.

Is it supposed to be a crime?
I am my own target.
The old folks lied—
An apple couldn't keep me alive.

Words cut deeper than knives,
Wounds that fester in my mind.
Home to others, not myself—
Am I rotten enough yet?