I am held together by tape and pins inside, make shift stitches are the only things keeping myself from falling apart. There are so many chips In my skin I do not know If they are from mine or everybody else’s loathing. My strings are so weak there is no telling when I will have to cut them, and let my limbs fall far beneath my feet. You would think I would be better at keeping myself from ruining everything else, but I have spent too much time tearing myself up to know how to hold anything worth saving In my bloodied hands. My lips have been stretched so thin from keeping all my secrets locked inside I drool blood and grief through the sutures. Please use me, i have no idea how to do this on my own, and I am not my own master anymore. I don’t know how to exist without you. I have been left on the floor for so long I am a mess of broken attempts to fix something that cannot be mended. I am unsure I will even work right, but I need someone to tug on my ropes and make it seem like I am more alive than this.