hand-me-down

                                                                                              Wyatt Mills

Scents, words, a scene

My mouth is moving
the voice isn't mine

It is his

I'm not running

I'm still; flat against the earth

My ears pound 

The struggle to fade into the surrounding sand

Can't sink deep enough though... not to disappear 
Silence

Silence becomes a sentence of infinite time 

It never fucking goes away. 

Like clay, I'll reform myself into a ball, firm and smooth

My feet get so fucking weary of this same 

This road that never seems to fucking ever end 

 "Fucking" becomes the only word that I can FUCKING say 

 I've been a FUCK because I didn't think I had worth
 A garment

 A hand-me-down 

 No longer valued; worn

Those around you become facilitators 

Of self abuse
DIDN'T you see that I was broken 
I watched as you stepped over the pieces of me 

You turned back, selfishly, to bend and take

Cast down; unwanted

No parts of me were salvageable