ll pense

In the morning, standing five feet nine in one sock, I stood looking into the toilet bowl, at my reflection.

Slightly shuddering with the feel of the tip of my tongue sliding across scabbed bitten lips.

A forced smile brings about the sting of pain and metallic liquid.

--I____ you--

Words whispered silently from mute lips, that brought me slumping against the wall, sliding down to the corpse cold tiles below.

The thoughts of speaking un-random syllables, brought a sharp breath of polluted air...and with the feel of my fading heart beat and movement of scarred hands. I in quiet inspections and muffled movements screamed with a imaginary voice that swallowed all things that meant a thing in this world.

Voices whisper back and forth, echoing off the bathroom walls, all saying the same thing, that what ever went down well inevitably come up.

With a slight grin I grab the bottle and make a promise that with one more pill I will be better tomorrow with the help of stolen bottles filled with cramps and crings.

With every swallow I hug the toilet for long hours everyday, adding to the different attributes to this illness of a sick mind.

With the drops of sweat down my spine, I stare marveled--far gone with the sight of my insides sinking into the water of a dirty shitter.

Sweaty hand prints on white painted walls, show the twisting and turning of clumsy hands that try to find a holding....crumbling I fall into a puddle of diluted nonsense.

A sharp sting sends shivers up the spinal cord, with a swallow I stare at the shot glass and think...just think.

Untranslated collection of words with a stunningly classic warp of eerieness has my brain making illustrated pictures of twisted humor.

Looking in the mirror I with a silly smirk just stare and try to not think.

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