Perhaps, if someone had lived the way I have…

They would see meaning. 

They would treasure it.
But I cannot.

No matter how hard I try, I cannot see any worth in what I do, and by extension, in what I am.

I want someone to tell me how I look…

Yet, no one but me would care. So, why should I care…? 

My eyes…

Are they empty?
Are they restless? 

Are they tired? 

Are they round like pearls?

Shiny like Jewels?

My hands…

Do they look tired?
Do they look Deceitful?

Do they look incomplete? 

Are they always stretching out, reaching to find something else?

My facial expression…

Is it a cheerful smile?

Is it a frown? 

…

Do I have an expression?                                                                                                                    

(there’s more keep going lol) 

Even if I don’t have an expression, that doesn’t mean I don’t feel things.

I’ve felt things…Joy, sorrow… Fear. 

Even now, I feel. 

But this feeling is nothing. 

This feeling is so empty, it fills a void inside of me. 

The silence shushes the tiny voice in my head, telling me that I’m worth nothing but the weight of my blood, and the cost of my bones.. 

The voice that I created so that I’d never feel alone. 

The voice that exists inside my brain, that controls this flesh capsule I call a body, that I will never be able to leave.