She was artificially alive 

Stared into oblivion for hours on end 

Her head was tilted to the left, creating a stream of drool on her cheek 

It dripped forming a puddle beneath 

She was immobile 

Thanks to the thousands of pills she was fed 

They were meant to save her from herself  

From her demons 

All her empty mind could fixate on, was a stone 

She liked the stone 

A quiet companion 

It was grey

Matchy matchy with the four walls 

It had tears, some deeper than others 

 Where did they come from?

Probably from the cruelty of other stones 

If  stone world was anything like the human world 

There it was

In her horrid space 

Its cuts were art like 

They formed stripes of dark and bright which gave depth 

A deepness that went for eons 

The cusps on its surface revealed glittering grains 

Bright dots that seemed hot to the touch 

Its pretty must lay in the inside 

Its edges were assymetric 

As if it rebelled, refused to conform to the idea of beauty  in perfect symmetry 

She envied the stone, wondered what it thought of her 

Her cuts 

Scratches, spread out in no particular direction 

The stench of bitterness she breathed out 

The aura of defeat that lingered 

She was locked away, tethered to deep rooted self pity 

Engulfed in a whirlwind of ire brewed by the voices 

She was always angry 

The voices enraged her

They never shut up!

They held convos that made no sense 

Threw accusations 

Followed by absolutions 

Then offered penance, for whatever she might or might not have done 

A miserable waste of skin, they called her 

All by her lonesome, she couldn’t ward them off 

How did she get herself here? 

How did she get stuck in her mind?

How did she get herself in the madhouse? 


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