Standing on my tiptoes,
Make as little sound as possible,
Light footsteps,
No one must hear me.
It feels foreign and untouched,
The air so stale and unmoving,
Heavy with a hint of death.
Breathe in breathe out,
Light, unlike
The air I'm forced to breathe in.
Toxic gases pumped into the air vents?
Quite a possibility,
I don't doubt at all,
They'll do anything,
To prolong my torture.
Blood pools everywhere,
They were my brethren,
People I loved dearly,
The only people.
My eyes sting, my ears itch,
Looking at their body grow limp,
They let them rot,
Now my nose waters,
What did they do?
What did I do?
Never a reason is needed,
Justification has become,
Automatic,
And immoral, inhumane,
It kills my heart,
Slicing, dicing it,
The pain so great.
I see through it now,
Never had they, laid
A finger on me.
I'm in perfect health,
Yet they've hurt me,
Greater than death can;
It's the inside.
They were innocent,
Yet they were the dolls that were used,
To break me,
I'm the last doll,
But my flowery painted porcelain,
Lays on the inside instead.
They knew everything,
Brains bulging with facts,
Nimble they are indeed.
No longer me,
Who am I?
Who is 'me'?
No switching of bodies,
Waves,
Unsure brain activities, they say,
Fluctuating wider than ever,
So that's what they're doing,
They're moulding me,
To sickening shapes,
Digest rips at my guts,
The blood and bile,
Fails to be regurgitated.
Everything is trapped,
Within the withering walls of,
My sanity.
Decaying and eating away,
Ever so quickly,
I laugh heartily,
Making sure they've heard me,
Before my heavy body rises to the ceiling,
My spirits,
Lightening everything,
I swim in the air,
Bliss erupts,
And consumes my being,
Solving a puzzle, brings
The sense of achievement,
Happiness,
I've done none, though,
Is this fake?
Probably,
It all traces back perfectly after all,
The roots known as my identity.
