Procariously you fall around in my body and the worst part?
You have no idea.
Sure it could be the cancer eating away at my stomach,
The murmur rippping an even bigger hole in my heart then what was there.
Maybe that explains why in some degree i can be a cold, hateful bitch...
But thats not yet my title.
Its not who i am.
Or it could be perhaps the thyroid function five times faster then it should so i look like a skeleton as we speak.
Maybe that explains why your so skinny and twisted but your the best death.
I wouldnt want to go any other way,
Any more then the way its supposed to be.
Maybe as you swim in me i can almost feel you...
The bits and pieces of me falling apart into tinnier bits no way for me to ever really stop it.
Maybe i like the feeling of you crawling in my blood,
Taking what little oxygen using it for your next generations supply of food.
The more i thought about dying this way though somehow the more i thought of how we as society...
We are a disease:
We are constantly lurking for years on end no one ever knowing she was killed and yet you roamed the streets blissful for your innocence.
Its when we feed off each others pain; sacrificing an entire being for ones selfish fullfillment.
Its when i looked around at all of us and i could name off easily who was going to go next.
But we are like a disease no,
We are the disease.
YOU ARE READING
Indigo
PoetryLooking through the eyes of a people you learn that there are two options: Your either plastic or dead. Being an empath isnt easy but you learn that the way you see things is much more then just black and white and growing up sideways i learned that.
