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.
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