The blur

Every night I feel sad.

I don't speak my language;

I don't speak my name;

I don't have a name.

I am no one;

An abstract.

The lamb

Cooked on someone's meal.

On the Tiger's tongue:

Teeth and mouth,

saliva,

blood,

but even my blood is transparent;

I am invisible.

Every night I pretend

I play games

I do a theater piece of nothing

An emptiness spectacle

I delete my brain

And my life

As if I was able to erase myself from

the existance whom I 

never belonged to

I don't remember

It's even hard to say what exactly 

I get myself so confused

My mind feels like it's loosing itself

Sometimes I think I lost it for good

And that comes with some sense of relief

Finally

I don't have to worry about getting mad anymore

Now I already am

I don't have to pretend to be sane no longer 

I skip pill days

Like rabbit holes

The more lost I am the better

I want to feel hurt

And I wait anxiously and willingly

for the moment where destruction 

Will find its way back to me

I want to go home

To my graveyard

I wish to disappear in the air

I'll never receive or possess

the privilege to be