Dead

I feel myself becoming scraggly in this place. As if I’m old, but I don’t remember being old. I feel my face and it’s smooth this time. They lead me to bed. They give me bland soup that I dribble everywhere. I take my bites and they don’t care. They want to take my organs. They want my kidneys, and brain, and skin because I’m special. I fall asleep anyway. Then it’s breakfast. And my heart is gone.