Nothing feels solid
and I can't see anymore.
Just faces faded
in old pictures on the wall.

There's just nothing
at all.

Nothing feels solid
or at least,
I can't feel it anymore.

There's scratch marks on my body
and they will surely go away
or at least
that's what I've been told.

I don't feel at home in myself anymore.
There's not enough space for change
nor to grow.

I feel it's all so slippery
and I can't figure out a way to keep hold
of all those things
that would make my heart bold,
thumping loud in my chest,
not so scared of getting old.

I'll remember you forever
and forget you all the same,
same way you'll do with me,
I guess time will be to blame.

Promise me you'll be getting older,
'cause we're young now
but the chiming will be getting stronger.

I love you now that I don't know you,
so love me then
when you don't see me anymore.

It's poisonous claws
scratching up from the inside
of my chest, they open
a path of lurid squalor
festering the internal wounds
with rotting meat
that spreads from within
to the skin that crawls
and dies, cell by cell
into the empty stale air
surrounding our conversation

The words float
from one breath to another
without ever really landing
to a precise spot
of connection
They just mimic meanings
and thoughtfulness
when they are void of any feelings

There is no spark of life
no life itself
denied to us
by the putrid scent
we ignore the existence of
No knowledge of pain
or reality
just a dull sense
of immortality
as we still
like the dust suspended
motion our lips without sense
nor sense of self
Corroding second by second
by second 'til we
become dust ourselves