However do I spill this?

Do you see how thin I look?

My eyes are blind

I hear loud noises every now and then

Like a train of loaded thoughts passing through my brain.

Yes, I also can't breathe well on Fridays 

When I see Mr. Renfield

Feeding his mule

With grass from our farm.

 

When I decide to take my life

You'll know

That all along

The signs were there- 

Radiating; they bore a neon color.

They were calling you, seeking.

Unfortunately, 

The help will be tardy

The plane departed 

And landed in darkness

In a hot mess, in hell.

And Mr. Renfield will be watching

Since his house has high windows.

I should know

I've been there twice now.

The bed is supposedly higher than the others

And there I lay

Unmoving, unconscious.

And he, busy atop a lady

Only pain and blood as evidence.

But who to show to?

Since my uncle is busy in the fields

His hands ploughed and battered like old bread

His back hunched hard in the sun

His eyes

Gone, and thus 

He does it best

Ignore.

And also, Mr.Renfield is a friend he says.

 

There's a creature in my stomach.

It's strange and small

It moves all the time.

And only then

Does the world quieten

As I listen with my soul.

And yes I despise

But one unborn does not bear the blame.

So I hold on

Hold on with my bony hands

I will not let him win.

 

Though the mind is weak

And sometimes I lose control.

But the kick

The kick breathes life into me again.