Seventeen days, five hours, and twelve minutes have passed since I lost my soul.

I don't know how much longer this husk will cling to life.

Like hanging from ice, the longer I hold the more my stability melts away,

This flimsy facade is starting to wear, my grip is slipping further,

Any little distraction could spell disaster, the straw that breaks my back,

Why do I live a life where all I can do is survive, always hanging on,

I would rather hang from a ..., at least my hands could rest.