I

I'm flying.
My chest is filled with overflowing ache.
My eyes, my brain, both sore from excruciating pain.
My fingers, they're shaking, as tears trembles to fall.
Days have passed, vices had eaten my worth.
Left me with no pride to eat, no respect to consume, no trust to be worthy of.
Closing my eyes weakens my knees.
As I dream of improbable sweetness, I taste of bitterness, of pain and of prejudice.


I'm stuck.
Miserable.
Exploited.


Everything seems going slo-mo, giving me no schema to defend my existence soon to be doomed. Panoramic scenes are out of glimpse. What remained were canopies of brutality, a soft tragedy brought after the dusk eaten thy precious dawn. Discreet yet outrageous. Shattered yet pure.

I'll remain mute, as the war inside let me function no more.