You

Worthless that is what you are.

Spineless.

Nothing.

A page filled with scribbles.

Potential? You never had any.

Pathetic.

Empty.

Crumbling down like your rusty beat up truck.

Love and attention are wasted on you.

Hopeless.

Drained.

You might as well be blind, since darkness is your home.

You are fractured and broken glass, cutting into yourself and just letting your blood spill.

Doomed.

Desperate.

You have become so fragile a look from a stranger will make you collapse.

A loathsome creature of sloth resting on your own misery.

Lifeless.

Coward.

You can’t even handle the rhythm of your veins, a living thing.

The reminder that you must live another day in your existence of nothing, and no matter how you wish to flee, to hide, to break, you are locked in a prison of your own flesh and bone. You can’t escape.

You are a play thing of the universe,

It feasts on your anguish,

A buffet of decay,

Carrion with a heartbeat,

You know, you know, you are this awful thing. Those clouded eyes of yours see no light in your future. You know the truth of your soul.

 It creeps and ebbs.

It bubbles forth like black tar from the vault you tried to shut in.

The stench of defeat.

The rot of surrender.

You. You. Awful, spineless, you.

Sweet heart, you took a one way ticket to the land of night mares, and this train we are on doesn’t stop.