Herm.

Silently lying
while you hate yourself for trying
and the cool air
blows onto your face.

Thoughtlessly sobbing
and quietly robbing
yourself of
all of your good taste.

Painlessly stealing
the life of one unfeeling;
who knows,
maybe you can call that thing yourself.
Call for help.
And take
a
look
into your inner shelf.

The one that’s filled with memories,
bits and pieces,
the old loved ones
that really mattered.

Shamelessly needing
the sad, quaking keening
of old times,
can you hear your yell?
Can you feel hell?

Helplessly taking,
ruthlessly mistaking,
your good side
for your bad.

But in the end, it’s all okay.

Good.