I can't seem to remember what it's like to feel alive,
or when bones and blood collide,
or acid tears brushing my weak skin.
This is terrifying,
the way everything is moving too fast for me to grip the ceiling.
Maybe my skin isn't the only weak thing about me.
For I have become hollow,
with no soul to keep me steady.
Demons breathing down my neck,
I swear I recognized the trail of goosebumps that they left.
Their shrill demands still echo in my head.
Pounding,
almost as if they're trying to force themselves through my skull and out my mouth.
Slowly showing through each word I speak.
Transparent,
I am not me.
