Don't

Just a poem

Don't touch me.

I'm here, shivering in this corner, in this kennel in this cold grimy room.

Don't touch me, don't talk to me, don't look at me.

I'm tiny. 

I'm so small.

Please, for the love of God, don't touch me.

I don't exist right now, I don't exist for you or anyone else.

I'm covered in the blood of others, filth is drawn to me and I can't do anything about it.

My caved-in chest heaves.

My spindly hands are at the sides of my head, feelings the oily hair there.

Don't touch me, don't speak to me, don't speak about me.

Words echo out of the hall, it's mouth open and gaping whereas my decaying teeth chatter.

My lips are blackened with soot and there are no clothes on me.

I can feel it coming out, from down the hall, all around me.

Tasting, scenting, touching, searching for me hungrily.

My skin is grey and my body rocks back and forth, eyes wide with terror.

Don't touch me.

Don't touch me.

Reviews

[Sydney]

I get the image of a classic schizo from this, it's very heart wrenching to read.