You ask me to tell you something.
But I don’t know what to say.
I can’t think of a single reason to give,
that could make you want to stay.

You ask me for something, but I have nothing;
Nothing to give.
Nothing to show.
Only the memories that inside my mind play slow.
Moving photographs with no sound.
Nothing in my heart that could be found.
Because if it existed you could have it.
Every single last section would have your name all over it.
But it just doesn’t exist.
I am cold, calculating.
It’s genetic and abundant.
I have no feelings and some could call me a monster.

You ask me to tell you something.

I purse my lips, shake my head.

We are all dying, was all I said.

P.r.d. 13.