my body is not a temple.
its a prison.
a hallowed out sanctuary. no one worships here. hatred. jealousy. loneliness. despair. nestled between the bars. all the while hope remains wrongly shackled in a cell of her own. she dreams in black and white. swallowed by the layout of her brilliant escape. refusing to let go of the ideology that she is bigger than this institution. her stories of appeals and tunnels and maps grow fainter as the years pass. time after time, the guards beat her with failure. strip her dignity. laugh at her perseverance. broken. its been three days since her cell was vacated. i dont know what to do without her.
its a shelter.
occupied by the lonely, the dirty, the desperate. i welcome them inside; tormented by the obviousness in their eyes that they would rather be anywhere but here. misery dances along the halls stained by a lifetime of regret. i watch in silence as methamphetamine rots a brittle man from the inside out. i watch in silence as undernourishment devours the once pink faced infant. i watch in silence while a brown eyed beauty finds comfort in tearing at her own flesh. they crowd my soul. begging, pleading, needing for me to save them. i cant.
its a tomb.
surrounded by the souls of the brilliant. i watch in envy as loyal patrons decorate their graves with colors of love, gratefulness, appreciation. awaiting my judgement, i maliciously calculate the severity of a every mistake that i have ever made throughout the course of my time. picking apart a life time of interactions in an attempt to justify them. i cant. its been three years since i accepted that no one is coming for me. i never once questioned why. the silence of rotting alone is too much to bare. every night i wish that my body was a temple.
so that i could burn it to the fucking ground.