its shitty poetry time, my dudes

it

(uhhh be warned this is venty as shit basically and its 397 words so uh yea also i doubt anyones actually gonna read this so say hi in the comments if u do i guess?)

sleepless
sleepless
i toss and turn
music used to help
now its just as bad as empty silence
the silence can never feel as empty as i do
im constantly aching
i just want to scream
i dont know how to write poems, i just dont know what else to do when i cant sleep
i was sleeping fine but im having trouble again
my mind doesnt want to sleep
it wants to scream
and scream
and scream
im so tired
its like my insides were all scraped out of me
slowly slowly slowly
every night since fifth grade , little gremlins with black beady eyes and the sharpest teeth and claws long enough to impale me have come up to me while i am in bed , and they cut me open and take a small bit of my skeleton, a little bit of muscle, some of my heart
they pick away at me and pick and pick,
but i think theyve left by now.
there's nothing much left except the shell that keeps me moving
a shell of a person
an empty corpse
a corpse that can talk and type and make things
a corpse that masquerades as a living person
a corpse that has everyone fooled.
you might see its breath in the air on a cold winter day, but i can assure you it is nothing more then the last of it's soul leaving the shell of what it once was.
it looks in the mirror and sees a stranger
it talks with someone's stolen voice
it cries stolen tears
it walks and talks and does it's best, but the gravediggers are disappointed with it's performance
it will amount to nothing in the end, they say, they are foolish, because they do not realize that it is not alive. that it is an it, and nothing more
it will deteriorate before the gravediggers throw it out
it will rot into the ground and the gravediggers will be blind until it is gone
it is screaming.
it is screaming with an animal sound it stole from the woods
it feels like it's screaming loud enough for the whole world to hear but it is mistaken, no one hears it's cries
it is typing this poem, it is crying stolen tears
it has been typing in the dark for over an hour
it is crying stolen tears