how to move little fingers

three chocolate muffins lined up
in front of me, I feel extremely
famished but
cannot take a bite for my mouth is
already stuffed with
sweet, sickening secrets.

i see scattered cut marks
and i don't know how
they got there
i see my mind locked in like
an insect in a flytrap

slowly, i stiffen

i cannot write poems anymore without
having to
pause and think of which word is more
appropriate?
accurate?
or was it
actual?

my mind is distracted as
i watch people who don't
know my life
scribble blurry letters upon the
sheets of paper i once
spilt brains upon

i do not deserve what i am served

they steal away my
counting sheep
and sell them to people thought
worthier than i am
until i have nothing to
keep me asleep

instead i am fed with
images of sharp knives cutting through my eyes

actually, i don't dare to shut them anymore
so no, counting sheep is off my list
for a reason, i suppose

;after all.

i don't tend to make sense, i don't even know
the point in me saying
i can't afford to lose another minute
to
fake promises - those you see when you
drift

away.

i say life sucks in
a different language so others
can't
point fingers at me and call me
insignificant
can't
laugh because foreign words always
sound better

i'll sell you a piece of reality
for a penny
a penny a piece - maybe two;
i have way too much stuffed in my
pockets
and i don't know what to do with it
except

stare at the things i keep in my hands that i
don't necessarily want.