The world is one big bubble. I’m inside, pounding my fists against the interior, screaming, crying, weeping for someone to let me loose. Everyone else passes by, one blur after another as they hurry about their busy lives. Never a moment to breathe. Never a moment to see. Never a moment to release me. The tears have stained my face from the inside out. Leaving permanent scars trailing under my eyes. That only I know are there. Because no one seems to notice, the girl trapped in her own shell.

Three.
The time is a crawl
As the clock chimes four
Everyone goes about their business
Nothing less: nothing more.


The outside is imperfect in the most subtle of ways. I wear my bubble like a body, but it repels everyone away. My muscles have yet to show through the fat, which clings under my skin. My identity can’t be found behind my hair that falls over my face. Shielding me from them, or them from me, I don’t know. I guess it’s for the best either way. The blue ice from my eyes can pierce anyone’s soul. Too dead to be real, too unseen to be told. But no one, no matter how many there seems to be, can hear my desperate cry for help within this being everyone calls “me.”

Two
No one seems to care
As the clock chimes five
Whether I’m there or not,
Dead or alive.


My finger nails bleed in the cracks left in my shell. I dig to find the light out. Hoping to break out of the jail. A sliver of sun trickles in, taunting me with its brilliance. Promising, beckoning me to come out. Dancing along shell. My shell. I can’t help but allow my heart to race in anticipation. Allow myself to reach into Pandora’s jar and allow my fingers to grip fast to the only thing left in the emptiness. Allow myself to pull it out and touch it to my heart. Allow myself the faintest chances, no matter how dull, to know that somewhere there is hope. And maybe it will find me.

One
It’s the devil’s hour
As the clock chimes six
Hoping to break my shell
So it can’t be fixed.


And alas, when all is gone. We still have hope.

Zero.