My soul is diluted, it's reckless, empty. I paint the tips of my fingernails to remind myself what is real and what is not. I sit in my hollow mind, and listen to the echoes of the ghosts of me. None confront me, none approach me. I am in a hopeless in between stage of shedding a skin and growing a new one, like the skin is wrapped tight around me, suffocating the joy and hope from my body. My soul has abandoned its vessel, i walk the night feeling empty and misguided. Warm to the touch, but numb to me. I've become useless, my body taking up the space it resides in. Each morning i awake, and follow the routine I've gone over so many times in my head. Sobriety sits upon the foot of my bed, just staring. It taunts me to flush him away. Tonight i lay here in my bed, feeling soulless, empty. But my mind is still here, and she will come and go as she pleases. She will leave behind these words as a reminder that she has not fled the scene of this murder. Her mind is alive and well, but the person inside is dead.
