Untitled: 2/19/2011, 7:33 PM.

Suspended in front of thousands of mirrors, my reflection that of a ghost.

Skin translucent enough that any spectator can witness the thump-thump-thump of my shredded heart. Ribbons lay south with each word moaned/spat/breathed/screamed decorating the pink surface. Pink? No, scratch that- gray. A milky kind with specks of black rot and crimson life.

Now, pay attention to the chorus of laughter spilling from my pavement lips (step on a crack, break your dear mother's back) and pay closer attention to my begging gaze.

Please, tear me down. It's cold up here without him and I no longer feel my flesh.

A tiny voice echoes in the back of your mind, getting louder and louder and louder until you're screaming it, your fists clenched and veins pronounced: "I can't fucking help you."

More giggles, higher pitched this time, frantic and lacking proper oxygen.

A look of pure confusion crosses your features, but you're still screaming, your throat now in mirrored shreds of my own.

Tell me, how does it feel? Believe you me, I'm not the only fucking insane one here.