The TV is on, but all I hear is silence.
My eyes line with water as I stare.
This blankness has painted pastel pokadots along the wall.

I hate this feeling...
Similar to your heart stopping,
But breaking logic.
As you hear it crash against your chest.

I am stuck here.
Any familiarity is stranded on and island
Where my memories reside with Hades.

Skeletal fingers have killed off the weaker ones
And the shadows in the woodwork-
Seem to overpower fragile flowers
Leaving an empty bed of weeds and mulch.

My arms are restless, yet week...
And lifting even my own weight,
Sends a shock of pain through my core.

I am guided only by my fingernails,
That seek to scratch and rip
Tear me from head to toe...
Seam to Seam.

Oxygen fled long ago,
And I'm left unsure-
How long have I not been breathing?

Perhaps an hour for each shudder-
That's rolled down my spine.
It's frighteningly obvious.
I've been dead for a long time.

I dream of a world where-
Night and day show visable boundaries.
Where we're comforted by an Ankh in the sky.

Sugar we're going down swinging,
Silent rebellions, and self battles.
Asphyxiation at it's finest.