You can't hear me because I'm already dead,
but that's me,
laying on a cold, hard, metal bed.
I scream my lungs out but

You can't hear me.
I need to be louder,
make you pay attention,
force you to listen but

You still can't hear me
even though I'm crying,
and clawing,
and pounding at the blackness
that has engulfed my
light.

You still can't hear me
even though it's just a scar.
'It will heal' I told myself.
Infection
gave way and I
scream.

Scream for you to hear me,
yell for you to be quiet,
argue that I'm nothing more than
skin.
It touches the freezing steel
burning
my back.
I cry for the pain,
and the hopelessness,
and the end.
Because you didn't hear me
and I

scream.