You

You who is flippant and unpredictable, who does not even know yourself, a meat cleaver has been taken down the middle of your head and the halves have ripped apart, spilling out a dark viscous substance of toxin, all of the poison that rots within your mind. You who has no face and a million thoughts and a speaker that is consumed by static, a disgusting and unworthy creature whom roams this world as if there is a place for you somewhere, somehow. You who is a disgrace to your Mothers' sweet names, a monster, disfigured and sickening, slowly killing all of the things that touch your hand. You who stares into me from the blurry glass, because you are me, the reflection of a being that has lost it way, and will never find it again. Who stands there and stares into that glass and wonders, wonders where it went wrong, where the fragments of a human being you once had held together with a string have been lost at, what worth you may have left in your vile existence. You stare. I stare. I wonder when it will stop. Will I take it into my own hands? Will I wither so far the world around me that i am outcast, thrown to the wolves for the irreversible effect I have had on those whom I wish to care for, whom I fail time and time again, did I ever really help them? I stare, and I stare, and I lose my vision as the black static of my face consumes my thoughts, reminds me that I am nothing of what I once was, that I am lost in a sea of neverending corridors and dim hanging lights, walking aimlessly hoping to find some clues as to what has gone wrong, or to find a way out of this suffocating place, but there is nothing, and it only continues to get worse and worse the longer I walk this decrepit place, rotting along with me as time passes, I am no longer a human being. There is nothing left of me that justifies the idea that I am somehow human. You deserve nothing. You are nothing. You provide nothing. You are waiting for your days to reach their final number. But dying is not an option. Dying is the last thing I am allowed to do. I must stay on this planet and walk, walk, walk. I must stay and fulfill a role that I am not fit for. I must stay and rub my hands raw trying to claw open the drywall that prevents me from finding an answer to my ailments. I am broken. I am ruined. I am nothing. I am trying. I am not trying enough. I have never tried enough. I wish to drown myself in the ocean, I wish to wander into the forest and never come back, I wish to return to my mothers, Nature and Sea, I wish to be accepted despite my hideous transformation, and become part of this beautiful Earth and leave behind the world I was never meant to live in. I am lost.