Vacated

What is a mind for, if not for medicating?
I begin to think that this is all I am,
Medicated, sedated, vacated.

I clutch at my throat, wanting words to disappear.
They are air, swimming without fear.
While I am coated from head to toe,
Longing to be willing to “let go”.

Preach falseness, and be heard.
Preach clueless, you are absurd.
But I am willing to go farther,
Flatten my skin and grow colder.

What does it take to be beautiful?
I find myself drained of all color.

I do not catch eyes, I catch flies.
I do not stand proud, I stand to go around,
To side step, back step, never over step.

I find that pride is fragile, broken bones hurt less.
And I break mine every time,
I sink into the mind that loves all I am,
Complacent, forsaken, vacant.