"Grape"

Too tired to write,

I fill my arm like a pen,

Inking it, not with tattoos,

But with bright blues,

Accompanied by dull color schemes of decay.

Laughing- there is joy,

As my flesh rots away.

The skin falls off my face,

And the skeleton I’ve always been

Is there for you to see.

So fucking pathetic and you have no pity;

Exactly how I always wanted it to be.

Too tired to cry, I dry my face regardless

I look up and laugh in the mirror

Seeing another face

But knowing that it is still mine

I realize a piece of my mind

Has cracked or shriveled

Like a grape on a vine,

Shriveled and bitter.

Waiting.

Just waiting.