You are nothing to me

A worthless speck of dust that occupies my finger

I say these words to myself

“You are worthless”

“You are nothing”

Yet I dont know who I am talking to anymore

A mirror figure is nothing but a wolf in a teenagers clothes

Constant figure eights of a pencil writting meaningless banter

A mind so far down a road of endless emotion that now it is numb

But who is numb?

Who am I even talking to?

Maybe its some stranger on the road who looks to me and says:

“Go down the road and take a left”

To which I can only reply:

“What? To where? Where do I go?”

Maybe if I follow down that road I can find who I am talking to

But when I follow the directions I come upon that store

I walk in to find creepy and slimy things

A hollow figurine filled with memories of a forgotten little girl caught in a perverts hand

Ah so thats what this poem is about

A forgotten little girl

A perverts hand?

Really? Is that the phrase that will represent him?

How many times must I mull it over in my head

Events that are so blurry that it makes me feel drunk to even think of them

Is that why I cant sleep at night some times?

Is that why she cant sleep at night at all?

She was there with me

I can hear her through the walls

She scrapes away at her own mind sometimes only falling asleep at 2 in the morning

Walking like a human when inside she is still soft and slimy from those events

We encountered it together hand in hand

So then at night when sleep finally takes over I see them standing there

Two small girls staring into my memories

Oh how I wish they would take them away

And then when they begin to come towards me

A hand comes to sweep them away to their cruel fates

Oh but it is just a dream that my stupid mind can only use to cope with those events

How old was I?

How old was she?

What does it matter now

I cant remember his face or name

I just remember the hands