They dance around me, refusing to cease. Going on a on, like a roundabout. I can't seem to feel why the feeling is negative. The consent taunting, the endless agony. The way the ocean sings to the beach. Beating on the rocks and slowly, withering them to sand. Feel as I do, feel with me. My pleading isn't enough to end these dances. They swarm like bees, stinging me here and there. Not enough to die, but just enough to bleed. Why are none of you, like me? Always someone to play with, always someone to exist.
Words come out with no meaning or feeling, stone dead is the linguistics that pour out of me. Pens and papers play with my desires, they call out to help, but I know it's no use. They won't come out, won't leave, won't pour out of me like they do with others. They sit, and breed. Making more and more. They rot away my insides and make my roots give out. I fall and fall. When will I stay down? Do they always grow back? Is this the cycle to my life. A beaten green. The dancers egg them on, to breed and multiply. Soon I will grow full, but I don't have the release of popping. The walls inside would just get stronger, and contain the rage and chaos. I will be just a vessel full of them. With dancers for fuel, I have no chance. I will fall gracefully to the ground.
No one will ever see the departed. Like all fall life, I will be forgotten.
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