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I don't feel right.
Who is this person?

Each gift given to me today is cutting away at my flesh,
Clean deep gashes in the shape of an X right in the middle of my chest.
Over and over again.
Each one because none of it brings me back to life.
It's all just a harsh, grisly reminder of how dead my senses are.
One by one, cutting away making the wound bigger until...
My heart drops onto the concrete floor, "plop."

Then it's captured.
Vice grips the darkest shade resembling the dried blood of those who slit their wrists over and over again a millennium ago shoot up out of the ground in record time.
Before I could even blink, my heart is gone and the malevolent hole that was in the concrete a second ago has closed.
It was as if the end of my world never occurred.
It was all a dream? An evil malicious dream aimed at the downfall of my very self?
Why?
Is this what I get for being so cheerful all the time? So full of life?

I fall hard to my knees on the concrete, cold as crystal ice,
Not worrying about the sudden pain of my knee caps shattering.
My world behind me is shattering itself anyway.
I pound my fists on the ground where the hole had been, 
Oblivious to the river of fresh blood spewing from my knuckles once so pristine and delicate.
I'm no longer that person anymore, not without that piece of me gone.

Down the hole that piece of myself drops on a laundry shoot to Lucifer's playland.
Hands shoot out of the dirt-filled walls on its every side,
The hands of those who couldn't survive the lifelong battle within themselves.
They claw and whine trying with all their might to get a grip on that piece that belongs to me because they've lost it themselves as well.

Time ticks and tocks away on the clock, never ending.
Each second it's away from me is torture.
I'm being stabbed and slapped, pushed and pulled.
Each second it's away from me a petal deteriorates from within my soul,
Slices of my outer self are peeled away,
Acid burns out my perfect vision of the world.

Through the magic mirror on my wall I can see my captive heart at the end of its journey to the netherworld.
It lays still beating, barely beating but beating nonetheless, on a table.
A glass encasement hovers over it.
Hades mocks my longing.
But someday, I swear it.
I will morph to Orpheus.
I will bring my love back to me and not look back.
I will bring myself back.
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