Feel the stinging crawl

of it

I head to see

The one.

The only one

Whose thought

They hear

Apparently

He matters.

For him

They listen.

I see

Him

They hear Him

Somewhat.

Supposed to be

For myself,

Yet hear me

They do

Not.

To the trained

Eye

Looked over

I am,

Beneath.

They can’t see

Me

What’s

Painted upon my face,

Tearing through my peace,

What jagged steps

Lest

I leave

And yet, I stay

Unfreed

Slashed by my wound

I appear

And feel not

Secure

Wrapped in

Not blankets

Not safe

In irony of,

Walls.

Wonder

How long I’ll be

Caught

Suspended

Stuck in

Fog

Watching time

Slivering off

Every dime.

Pain.

What

Happened To Me?

Spry turned

Spoiled

The fountain runneth

Dry.

Why?

So there I was, knee-deep in a thick, greenish slime so putrid it made my nose hairs tingle. The chief had already left the building. I was the only one left other than the janitors, and at this point, we all knew that these particular janitors absolutely, could not be trusted.