Dead.
Corpse without a name. Motionless limbs spread over the bed.
Eyes open staring to the roof. No life in them.
Every breath pains, a knife buried deep within my skin, every second making me terribly aware of my rotten smell. My joints crying pain. My blood circulating pain. My muscles running on pain.
My skin covered in pain.
Pain is my name, my alias, my self, my tears. Red runs down my legs, covers my arms, bursts out from every pore, bits of me falling to the ground.
I cry to the sky, while my nails dig deeper in my flesh, tearing me inside out, leaving me behind. But I am still here, alone, broken, not the owner of my body, trapped inside of it, slave to its pain, to its smell of death, to its never ending curse.