i guess i am just stupid
and mirrors never show
what part of my anatomy
says it is okay if people hurt me
nobody says my name tenderly
every letter is filled with poison
and i grow tired from not sleeping
or from sleeping too much
i am sick
of being
the thing that went out of fashion in a minute
of everybody wanting me
a second here and then
completely gone
eyes that burn
this part always hurts
and they do nothing but scream at me
"silence what you think"
"bottle what you feel"
when are you going to learn?
and all i am given
is a broken suitcase
to put all my wounds inside
and my hands always tremble
as i shove in my temper
where it won't be a burden anymore
i am sick
of watching
how the suitcase keeps cracking
everything inside
just spills outside
denied debts
my numbers are all red
but i keep forgetting
what i am deserving
of
i feel that one day they will all come
to ask me why i am not gone
i can hear them carrying
the broken suitcase turned into a coffin
they'll shove me inside
and sew up my mouth
i will breathe every hour
in mumbled hollow
while they sing
"this end is the best"
[ @inkstay august word prompt 4 : downward]