There lays my soul on open platter. Added results, dissection. My life, but not, judged. I hear them speaking, but no help falls from their lips; only heartless words, a recording. They look back down on me. I smile; thanks retreats from me. They could not understand, remorse is not felt. I have opened, yet in this, closed, shut myself off. I can't close their eyes though, can't shut off her voice. Over and over, repeated ignorance, heartfelt destruction. I am worthless; horrible; a piece of leftover, unwanted trash made so the universe could laugh, then cry. I am meaningless emotion in her eyes. Forgotton not forgiven for a spot my heart did not bleed. They can't understand, only disect cleanly words. A thoughtless reply. They can't help. No shoulder to cry on, only my closet to hide in. Let them tie me to the table, let them poke and prod. I am my foreign mask; let them believe I'm not made of broken glass.
My Life Laid Out For Me
March 1, 2009