Bleak inner wheel of torturous voices drags my corpse through the day of grey matter
Repressing any neural responses attempting to escape from the suicide drift of condemnation

I lay unawake
eyes sodden with squashed dreams
belief in life with-held from the undeserver

Tormented by spirals of death filled day-dreams
Demented I rise to gaze with empty eye sockets at a Spring Day incomprehensible to me

Listless I wander through the building: Do I exist here?
Do we exist anywhere?
Do I have feelings for either answer
I doubt this

I sit
I do not have the pulse flow to be catatonic

My dearest wish:
To cease.

The pain of existence to be extinguished forever
To merge
With the grey matter of the waking hours.