Dear Diary, it appears I am dead.

Dear Diary, it appears I am dead.

Dear diary,
it appears
I am dead.
I do not breathe,
I do not sigh,
the thoughts are silent
in my head.
My heart beats
no more,
my blood is still.
Or, it would be
if there was any,
but now
it never will.
I’m falling apart,
festering,
rotting,
right where I stand.
I cannot feel
anything
not even
the touchof your hand.