Ask me and I'll lie for sure,
I don't want your pity,
Your little guilt-bourne performance.
If I
       went through
You'd use me like chalk to climb.
More virtual hearts for real bodies.
Chest compressions started three days late,
All the hindsight lives saved half-heartedly.
So either let it grind on or gift myself to vultures,
Scraping bones clean in the desert sun.