Smells like death Dreaming of bad days. Bad days wanting to dream. Reality and dreams make me feel sick and full. I’ve lost control I fear being left alone, only because Im no longer alone with myself and once there she lets no one in- not even me. Where my body is the victim of my mind And my mind is the victim of my body. Falling into a pit where all my sense(s) drown in the smell of my loose unwashed flesh. My life is a packed bag of nothing that I can’t lift. Waiting for someone to do it for me. The clothes inside don’t fit my head anyway. Always waiting. Maybe I should just take the new me so at least I can kill it- or wash it. The thought makes the bile burn harder. Scared to shower. Scared to see what lurks beneath the stenchy fabric that sticks to my scaly skin. I smell like death- the smell of a body trying to exist after its life has left. Scared to sleep because I don’t want to wake and fight my smell.