written circa 2012.
anhedonia: (n) the inability to feel pleasure.

a river of blood rains out of my pours.
crimson and burnt red darkens my insides
but still my epidermis possesses a ghostly
white glow.

i don’t know where i am going or how i got
here. i remember listening to this one song
on repeat until it fizzled out and i stopped.
the signs are garbled like scribble marks i made
when i was little and called them art.

someone whispered to me that this is a recession
but all i heard was “this is recess” and i haven’t
stopped crying since… because recess hasn’t
existed since i could still count the moments
as they happened and not as where the rivers
turned to oceans of burgundy and red on my skin.


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