I wake up every day expecting nothing. I switch off my alarm half asleep as it buzzes and screeches with no emotion, at least it has a purpose. My bed is so small, I fall off every night, thud, at least it has a purpose. I walk over to my kitchen, slowly. Each step I take, I lose consciousness of myself, my thoughts, my behaviour, my responses, everything. I grab some bread, a load of crumbs trickle down, I slide it under my mat. I toast the bread, watching it every second. I don’t have the patience to toast it again, I watch my toaster, do its job, at least it has a purpose. Nothing happens, it’s been ten minutes, I didn't turn it on. I slap my toaster, as though it can feel, ouch. I scratch myself, by the metal rod sticking out of it. I watch it bleed, wondering what if i care enough to tape a bandage on it, agh. I toss over the junk in my cabinet for a bandage, I scratch myself again with a pocket knife. I watch it bleed, wondering if I care enough to tape a bandage over it, ugh. I grab duct tape and wrap my hand around it, numb. I trip to my room and stare at my mirror in disgust, it's so sunny. I can’t see myself. I stare into my eyes, in the mirror. 6 feet so short, sewage eyes like the rest, oily brown hair left unbothered, button stuffy nose, oversized striped pyjamas. I do not have a purpose. I’m just a man in your mirror.
by Miserable-Solid-6656