I have ignored the warning signs
teetering, all a' kilter
upon this precipice

to breathe, hard air
a gasp, of frigid life
tip into another one
trip into oblivion

my mornings are strains of
ichor from within
ochored bile an offering
to a porcelain god

an illness slinks
through these
capillaries

sandpaper stress
scrubs my marrow clean
to bleached
pale
bone