The Aftermath
My mind, dead.
Straight in the ground,
No ceremony,
No mourning.

My body, empty.
Fully hollowed out,
Wind coursing through every lifeless hole.
Slight whistling as the wind picks up.

My image, a joke.
Inside a self–constricting box,
Slowly squeezing me to death,
As everyone in reality, outside my domain, kicks the box repeatedly.

My soul, black as ashes in Satan’s hellfire.
Violent, troubling thoughts,
Held together by an unsettling look,
Finished with sinister laughter.

Me,
Forgotten,
Hollowed,
Constricted,
All strings cut apart leaving small open wounds that slowly drip out my sanity until nothing is left.