A/N: This just came to me because I feel "BLAH" lately. Also inspired by the mind wrenching (but nifty) book Trainspotting. Nyeh. Enjoy maybe! I WROTE A POEM AND IT'S BEEN FOREVER WAHHHH!!

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Choice of Existence

Does she choose live with,
a colossal haze, her mind so numb?
Doe she choose exiting over this,
with gashes deeper than the insides?
If you could see beyond her skin,
beyond her interior, you'd see that
everything beyond is wilted.

Does she choose a future,
rotting away, hunched in a corner?
Can she watch her own spirit,
heading for a fucking vast bludgeon?
Can she choose to have a mind,
or follow with no intentions, but to
be, just like everyone else?

Consciousness percolates through her,
but cannot make it's way to her.
She's unable to make a choice,
she is constricting into her own
puddle of blood staining the earth.
So she does not choose,
to exist in a circumference world,
of a human's very own half-baked mind.