The art of being lifeless

I do not yearn for material things,
For I learnt years ago how to beg, borrow and steal,
Nor do I pine for comfort and security,
The lost memories of a youth well spent.
I cannot search for something secure,
Because my legs refuse to touch the ground,.
I float aimlessly, my body weightless
As strings bear my weight,
A colossal memorial to ‘growing out of it‘,
To ‘moving on’
When all I did was change the scenery.
I do not crave anything, but the love
And peace of shiny slips
Falling about my arms.
I keep myself prisoner
For fear that life outside of my shell
Is too horrid for nouns or adjectives to touch.
I swallowed the key on June 7th
Because my favourite day had passed me by,
And I cried
When  I knew
I had remained
Right here in,
Nowhere.