I do not wish to speak.
My soul leaks fluid seeping through these eyes
Unarmed with tools to suture my wounds
Yet I seek to discover where the puncture lies.
My efforts are futile;
I curve my lips but still cannot break a smile.
Some days I get too lost within myself
I transform into a different being.
Disgruntled, Ungrateful victim of terror
If seeing be believing
I'm in denial for that cannot be my image in the mirror.
It sells me so short;
Some days I can barely reach anything.
Some days I shove away the hand that feeds
Loneliness welcomes hunger willingly.
There's a hug of which I'm in need
I reject it seemingly.
My body should be labelled 'Out of Order'
No one organ works in conjunction with the other.
Better days I've deemed ordinary
So some days have become necessary
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