silence

is the first noticeable

thing,

aside from the

dark.

it’s almost

like being asleep,

except the smell

of must

that coats the

air.

fabric binds

my mouth

and eyes,

but i don’t try

to escape it.

why escape

paradise?

when there is

nothing left,

but air and

the raw feeling

of rope against

bleeding wrists.

of blood coating

each hand of mine,

and tears dried upon

my cheeks,

for how can you

cry when there no

water left in this body?

so really,

it is blood,

crusted upon my

face, isn’t it?

so what do i

do when

the warm blood

is shed from these

eyes?

i bash my skull

against the concrete wall

until there’s nothing

left to cry