Leaving the forgotten

You sit there
in that sterile room
and they are all
dead.

All dead

behind the eyes.

Like their heart beats

to preserve
just
skin and bone.

Nothing else.

And they move

from the chair
to the bed
to the scales.
 

Compliant.

Walking shells.

There is nothing

there.

There is nothing there

because they want to
fade out.
 

Carcasses who wait.

Like carcasses who

wait
in the hope
that one glorious day
someone will be able to
breath
life back into
what little remains.

But they are

dead
behind the eyes.

 And life is so far out.

Their life is too far out.

Whilst the robot in their mind

repeats their mantra;
you are not ill
you are not worthy.

And reason dictates

the only way to cure this is to
eat less.
 
Shrinking bodies
keep the decaying mind
occupied
until sanity
can be placed neatly away.
 
Pushed so far back.
 
And you
can sit for hours
in that room.

Repeating empty words

into deaf ears.

There is no light.

Merely nods of

abandonment
or agreement
designed purely to pacify.

For she is master

in her own universe
where you are not invited
to play.

And you walk quietly away.

Knowing each step

takes you
no further than she has
already gone.

Then a tear.

For the girls

the girl in that room.

Weeping

at the loss of a soul
you once knew lived and breathed
alight with possibilities
now
carved into a shadow.

And she is dead.

Behind the eyes.