It's like the taste of bitter coffee in the morning.
Like a gaping hole in one's chest & a constant gnawing of bones & the drinking and drainage of blood.
Like pins and needles slowly sinking, and the complete consciousness that they are, just so unaware of how deep they're in and how soon they will reach you and hollow you out.
It's like I want to be killed
But I'm already dead.
Along with every emotion; every desire.
Maybe I'd rather be sucked of the life inside of me so I wouldn't have to partake in it.