I sit, crosslegged, exhausted.
I wear nothing but paper scrubs;
Sometimes a gown, if they are nice.
These lights are bright,
Overhead, bearing down,
Highlighting my shame.
I want them off,
But they have to see me, watch me,
Because I am "not safe."
I feel lost, empty, and utterly alone.
Pain radiates across my flesh,
Coming in waves, crashing one after another,
But I say nothing.

It doesn't matter.
I don't matter.

How many times, now?
Too many to count.
They know me.
They talk quietly about me, thinking I can't hear,
But I hear every word.
Their tone drips with judgment, even disdain.
You don't know what it's like, I want to say,
But I stay silent, defeated.


It doesn't matter.
I don't matter.

I am a ghost, a husk of a person.
That's how I ended up here.
A curiosity, a freak,
Causing this kind of injury.
It didn't hurt this time, really.
The pain inside dulled whatever physical sensations I felt during.
But now I am open, exposed,
My suffering a clear sign of distress.
The room stripped of "temptations,"
Even though I have no desire to hurt further.
I'm empty,
Alone amongst soft blues and greens,
Nothing but shame and dread to help me pass the time.

It doesn't matter.
I don't matter.

Just let me close my eyes,
And escape this place,
My body.
A crescent moon shines bright above the cityscape.
I wish I could fly.
I'd kiss the stars as I take in the night.
But I'm trapped in these walls,
Listening to the sounds of suffering
Around me.
If only I had someone here with me.
If only they held my hand, telling me it'd be okay.
If only they'd tell me despite this, I am loved.

It doesn't matter.
I don't matter.

I sit, and await my fate.