how to move little fingers

three chocolate muffins lined up

in front of me, I feel extremely

famished but

cannot take a bite for my mouth is

already stuffed with

sweet, sickening secrets.

i see scattered cut marks

and i don't know how

they got there

i see my mind locked in like

an insect in a flytrap

slowly, i stiffen

i cannot write poems anymore without

having to

pause and think of which word is more

appropriate?

accurate?

or was it

actual?

my mind is distracted as

i watch people who don't 

know my life

scribble blurry letters upon the

sheets of paper i once

spilt brains upon

i do not deserve what i am served

they steal away my

counting sheep

and sell them to people thought

worthier than i am 

until i have nothing to

keep me asleep

instead i am fed with

images of sharp knives cutting through my eyes

actually, i don't dare to shut them anymore

so no, counting sheep is off my list

for a reason, i suppose

;after all.

i don't tend to make sense, i don't even know

the point in me saying

i can't afford to lose another minute

to

fake promises - those you see when you

drift

away.

i say life sucks in

a different language so others

can't

point fingers at me and call me

insignificant

can't

laugh because foreign words always

sound better

i'll sell you a piece of reality

for a penny

a penny a piece - maybe two;

i have way too much stuffed in my

pockets

and i don't know what to do with it

except

stare at the things i keep in my hands that i

don't necessarily want.