Loathe

Clocks pelt forward, I remain stagnant in this chair
No sound, no sentiment.
My colorless eyes locked to the mirror
Reflecting the atrocity before it.
Every last emotion conjured into a silent, motionless, and cold stare.
The sun rises and the sun falls.
Outer spirits howl with me in the fires below.
Still I look into the glass
As suicide flows through my blood, viscously churning.
I begin to shake. Erase the sickness from the earth.
I am undeserving, I am misfortune.
I am undeserving, I am misfortune
The curser and the unwilling, never to change what I've done
And I suffer the consequence eternally