Carmetsys

on the way to the slaughterhouse a broken leg hurts less than death i must be on big shoulders because i can barely make any sound out i do feel each footstep taken inhale, exhale, right foot, left foot weakness all around me drinking and eating weakness futile and infertile weakness doesn't communicate it hoards itself in my closet and is barely enough to sustain me malnourished and pale i am weak not a victim, not a victim i wrap my hands around throats and squeeze, letting life trickle in at my discretion a victim does not act but is acted upon a victim does not hop off shoulders yet refuses to listen learning the sound of a voice rhyth