My skin and bones
Fallen on the floor
Stepped on by my enemies
Because they’ve never seen me as anything more
Than a rug to dust everything under
Because who else was there to blame
For the mess I had became
Cobwebs invading the corners of my soul
My bad habits have gotten
Incredibly old
The cleaning service forgetting to sweep them out
Losing my hair
To the vacuum that is my starvation
The suction scares me but its a numbing feeling
And my enemies love my pain
A rapid decay
Of the people who will listen to what I have to say
Distance myself to my journals
Words of my skin
Plugging out of my bones
Emotions so intense
The trashman leaves them on the curb
No one will accept depression
As a cancer that lives within you
Unless you’ve already been cured.
The ink of my pen
Is the therapist my parents refused to send me to.