“I’m rotting.
Stepping barefoot, soggy skin sticks to cement and pulls up my bare heel scraping on concrete in the rhythm of my pace.
It’s become so a part of me now, wanting to die; that every particle of air that slips past my tooth does so lazily; trails down my throat and into my lungs only to be sighed out by someone like me. What a waste of a creation. Even my muscles won’t do the work anymore.
A pile of sludge squishes into class. She takes a seat, listens, pretends she has a brain, or that this information is going to be put to good use.
But all ye who enter be warned: shes nothing but a sad little landfill, full of poptarts and antacid tablets.
So, now you see when someone tells me I’m cute or feigns interest, I have to climb out of my snail shell that took 20 years to build; comprised of slime, snot, and sadness only to tell some weary suitor that I’m unavailable.
I have no human form, leave me be.
I am a void; does she have a face? Yes! But, this is not a face to know.
Just a girl that held the door open for you once, or told you a funny joke. No one will know her.
It’s a real pity, you know? For the pretty ones to get stuck at the bottom of someone’s shoe.”
– Katherine Crawford