On Formlessness

I hide my nothingness in shame; weeping.

The faint sound of everyday life flickering in the distance and falling like shards of glass over my shattered body; cracked tendrils creeping their path over my pale arms.

My face is a formless mist, shrouded by my hands as I weep; my frame heaving in horrored nausea at my own form.

I recall the warmth that's so near to me but yet so far, mine but no ones. I try to picture them as I kneel in the blue darkness of my icy tomb; their warm face splayed out in front of me as on a cinema screen. And for a moment, my frozen heart is warmed; then I am alone again.

I trace the bounds of my cage, clutching my arms. I stumble, vainly trying to shatter myself against the walls; only to skim across the floor like scraping stones.

I must die.

- chelsea r. 2/19