beg to starseek.

I stare blank, empty.

The ceiling has become a familiar sight, the bland color seeping into my vision.
It’s become harder to breathe, as if my lungs close in.

Your blissful ignorance saves you.

Shall I rip out my heart show you may gaze into the empty space in my chest?
Or will you act as if it’s filled to the brim with hope?
One.
Shall I remove my mouth so you may see the emptiness of my words?
Or will you pretend as if I speak the truth?
Two.
Shall I remove my eyes so you can gaze into my soul?
Or will you close your eyes and turn away with a smile?
Three.
Shall I rip off my hands so you see how useless my body becomes?
Or will you give me a cast as if there’s something of importance to heal?
Four.
Shall I remove my brain so you see the hollowness of my head?
Or will you poke and probe at it as if it’s a work of art? A work so indescribably chaste.
Five.
Five stars used to shimmer on the ceiling, presenting a beautiful array of colors.
Those stars have faded, colorless, stripped of their beauty.
I look up at their replacement, five unlucky blotches of double sided tape on my ceiling.
My eyes gaze upwards towards them, head seeping with words and yells of protest from my subconscious.
What’d I give to stare at those stars once more with an empty mind.