I am wasted and wasting away.
I've been cemented within these walls
Pushing and pulling will-less air
Between pastel fading lungs and,
I stumble to dance awkward words
Off shattering porcelain lips.
To become an ornament is something else.
But to break your own heart with fear
Every waking moment, and every unconscious
Second of your life, is something more;
More difficult, crippling, punishing and bloodless
Than any deep, seeping wound.