Skin stretched like a drawn canvas over an empty rib cage where my heart used to beat.
It wandered off, and fluttered away, as if it had given up all hope on getting better.
Much like my mind is slowly but very surely losing grip, losing faith.
My poor mind isn't getting better.
I sometimes wonder if it can, or if it will, ever.
I'm only hoping,
That hope is a glue strong enough to hold the pieces of my shattered heart together.