Pffft??

140/232

I can barely seem to get words out anymore,
And the lies I'm consuming burn my throat sore.
But anyway,
I decide to say the things I should project out loud on repeat in my head instead, because it's better if my thoughts lay dead.

I don't know when I became such a shameful sight, perhaps it happened one time late at night?
Maybe it was in the naked day,
Where rose-tinted smiles should still play,
But instead now bury themselves under sedimented adversity; lamenting a state of being I don't remember.

My bones have become splintered, breaking and fracturing in the simple sense of humility.
The collapsed frame of my sanity has left me stripped bare, and exposed, vulnerable in my longing for the power to fill the expanse of my chest.
I am the glass walking guest.