Are you okay?
Drip, drop. Drip, drop. Drop, drap, drip.
No, that's not how it's supposed to go.
It's supposed to be drip, drip, drop, drop—drip, drop, drip.
I would know.
I watch the crimson, slow and thin,
Tracing rivers along my skin.
I will it to stop.
I beg it to dry.
To take me with it,
One final goodbye.
If only I were that lucky.
Drip, drip. Drop, drop. Drap, drip, drop.
No, still not right.
Even my own blood plays tricks tonight.
Mocking, shifting, changing pace,
Toying with me in this decrepit place.
It should be drip, drip, drop, drop—drip, drop, drap.
I should know.
Shadows creep, they dance, they cheer,
Whispering things I don't want to hear.
They twist, they turn, they steal my breath,
They mock my longing for gentle death.
"Fray off," I mumble,
Rolling my eyes to the ceiling's map of cracks and crevices,
Lakes and streams, valleys and ravines.
It depends on the day.
It depends on the lanterns—
Lit and bright, or snuffed of life.
And then they come.
Dark. Towering.
Plastered faces, empty, soulless,
Feet dragging in off-kilter paces,
Everything here is wrong,
Yet nothing here is right.
The cage door wails, it weeps, it cries,
Still, it opens.
Still, it sighs.
Hands like iron, cold and tight,
Pulling, leading, stealing light.
I do not fight—I've learned my place.
No more struggle, no more grace.
The healers come, they patch, they mend,
But is it real? Or just pretend?
The pain ignites, a burning spark,
A song once bright, now dull and dark.
I do not scream, I do not cry,
I do not fight or beg to rise.
That fire drowned, its embers died,
Sinking with all the lost goodbyes.
The monster returns, his hands still stained,
His presence heavy, sharp as chains.
The darkness coils, my failure displayed,
A debt unpaid, a life betrayed.
His voice is quiet, cold as stone,
A single word—cut to the bone.
"Worthless."
The word seeps in, hollow and deep,
A truth to carry, a brand to keep.
It settles heavy, it feels like fate,
A shackle locked, a sealed gate.
Righteous and broken, or whole and depraved?
A heart left in ruins, or a mind enslaved?
Cracked with a conscience, lost to the fray—
Or sane and unfeeling, just like they say?
I don't know.