I found it one night,
Sitting alone, across the room.
I saw it... and I felt.
A skeleton among the living?
Surely no.
But there it was.
Shoulders slumped,
the ale it sipped dripping,
sliding down cracked, brittle, white.
Lidless, eyeless,
sightless seeing.
Staring beyond me.
Decay satisfied long ago,
and yet the stench still tugged
at the air.
That night I felt nothing
as I silently dragged it to my car,
and I took it home.
I felt nothing as we both
coughed down,
one. last. drink.
I felt nothing as it followed
me inside...
As it undressed me.
But the next morning I felt something...
A writhing,
a burning,
a stinging
My mind screams in pain and confusion,
as a piece of my skin simply floats away,
and knits itself to the skeleton.
The following month drifts by breathlessly,
yet I felt like a leaf blown by it.
Hazily I remember now.
Her.
The skeleton and I
sharing the precious moments
of my last month
as a human being.
Every week highlighted by the color of emotion:
A vibrant orange for Joy.
The brazen, ******, red of Anger boiling.
And every time these sensual droplets
began to froth up from my skin,
no sooner had I felt them before the feeling
vanished... never to be felt again.
And another piece of myself was ripped from me,
stolen by Her.
Last among them.
The frail blue of hope.
And the bruised purple of my sadness,
the last coarse tears ripped from my eyes,
and my last objection coughed from my lungs.
That was a year ago.
Step by Step
she drags me along behind her.
And I-
I stumble helplessly.
mindlessly.
The ground feels strange on my feet.
Bone on cement.
The clattering of each step
rattles thru my hollow head.
I don't wanna think anymore.
I can't think anymore.
When I think, I end up... feeling.
Too many emotions.
Too many senses.
Too many...
Too many...
Bone can't feel anything.
I'm just a skeleton in her closet now.
I know we've all met a skeleton of our own.
© Dysphoria, 2020
