Condemned

She loathes the vacant feeling,
beneath every pore;
the desolate sensation in general.

The scrutiny that she has stored,
is beginning to decay,
and give way to all of the things,
it pains her to hide within herself.

She's become an empty bucket,
and misery trickles into her one drop at a time;
a collection she uses as her only vice.

The paranoia that she's beginning to sense,
is finally hitting the surface;
she knows they can see it scrawled all over her.

There's braille on her hips,
because it's easy to feel her every inch;
and she's content with her momentary lapse of apprehension.

No longer does she have a choice,
but to succumb among these worms--
this scum of life itself;

making her way toward the scalding hot
                                                                 


                                                                       center.